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The Blessing

It has been there above my daughter’s bed.

For weeks.

A homemade sign.

A sign stuck and restuck with two kinds of tape to the ceiling.

A sign I have paid no mind. Because, as my daughter said once, it was private.

Only I peeked tonight. On purpose.

We were clearing year-old crafts–she and I–lost socks, pennies, pencils and pieces to everything from her room today, when my daughter’s hands had reached protectively to guard the message on the ceiling. Without words her face had asked, “did you see?”

And I hadn’t.

But when she fluttered from the room, I squinted at the pen-soaked paper and beheld. Her private words.

Words which exposed her heart.

And left a kiss on mine.


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