I think I see glimpses of you in the kids I babysit on weekends, when they chase bubbles or giggle between begs to go higher and higher on the swing. Their little hands are so open, and flashes from yesterdays come back from oblivion. 

The little hands that thought they were too stupid to do monkey bars are still the ones I use now. Little hands that never quite grew to what I thought I wanted. Little hands that wanted so much, but kept stepping aside for someone else. You never did get those solos in the Christmas plays. 

I hope I make you proud. I hope that, if you could look at me, you'd think I was one of the cool people who have their lives together, who don't need to slouch their shoulders in, but I do, I do it all the time. 

You don't need to make everyone laugh. You don't need to say sorry again today. 

Where have you gone? If I could see you, one more time, hold out these still-little hands of mine,

​I hope you'd look at me and smile big like you used to.