I know this girl, she really tries to live in the moment, but so often she forgets.

I know this girl, she has a history of trying to do too much so she never does anything exceptionally well, though good intentions lead her.

I know this girl, she’s got four kids and a husband, what a group they have become, thick as thieves, usually happy though sometimes terribly exasperated with one another.

I know this girl, she’s always tired but she stays up too late again and again, greedily relishing the quiet, too wonderful a chance to pass up for sleep.

I know this girl, she wants to save herself and her children from hurt feelings, but she just can’t, she’s so very sensitive.

I know this girl, she’s scrambling to finish and rush and hurry, but then she wonders if she’s missing it and can’t remember what she even accomplished.

I know this girl, she used to write letters to her children when they were babies, and now she writes stories about the kind souls they are becoming.

I know this girl, she is learning to ignore the tasks that pull her away from that space between children on a cozy bean bag that she knows will be emptily glaring at her in the blink of an eye.

I know this girl, I like her quite a lot, but I wish she was more sure of herself, awash in contentment rather than the constant shrugging of wavering skin.

I know this girl, she feels so enveloped by the love of her family that she sometimes forgets how good she has it even when she makes sure to remember.

I know this girl, though when she looks in the mirror she sees that she’s not a girl any longer, but then comes the heart’s gentle reminder that this version is far lovelier.