You will grow up, little girl; the place around you will soon adjust to different colors, each hue a wonder to behold.
People will cross your paths, each heading to a direction all their own.
Some, ready to carve their way, others will stay along the fence until destiny comes for them.
Eyes you've thought will stay with you forever eventually fade away, their gazes hardened, distant.

It'll hurt to hold on, to let go, to push and pull, to struggle.
It'll hurt to make room for this ever-changing world.
But you will learn what it's like to love, little girl.
You will learn to love until it hurts.
You'll come to miss the taste of dry whiskey, you'll want it to slither down your delicate throat like a God-damn cure all.
Those devil sticks they call cigarettes won't seem so bad, anymore.
And your hands will bleed from clinging to what's not there, but that's alright -- it'll always be alright.

You will come to know what it's like to heal aches, pains and bruises.
You will be a nurse, little girl.
One that's just about seen it all but acts all the same, as if it was the first time.
And they need that, they need the genuine concern -- they need you, honey.
And that's good, because God knows you need them too.

Little girl, you will find yourself in places you never thought would exist.
There will be shades of nighttime blue and daylight time that you'll come to marvel.
You will take others and make memories with them.
The pencil you use to write them all down will draw a callus into your fingers because there's just so many.
Stories become paintings, paintings etched effortlessly across your youthful soul.

Little girl, you will be loved, their adoration like feathers in your invisible wings.