At the store of perpetual optimism

I can never manage to find things that fit me right—

one day, a shirt is too big, another day, the pants are too small.

Some days, everything is just so so-so.

While walking in the park with my daughter yesterday, she wore a colorful voice-knitted melody on her lips.

It came to her naturally as breathing.

It wasn’t a song I’d ever heard before; she was making it up on the spot.

It poured sweetly from her being, the sonic manifestation of her at that moment.

As she grows older, I hope she can construct an inner song garden that weathers the darkest moments.

I hope anti-gravity runs through her veins, so falling doesn’t hurt as much.

My daughter continues singing.

Inside the song, outside the song, she wears her melodies well.

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