Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that little head of hers.
When she looks at something so intently.
When she follows her father until he disappears around the corner and she cranes her neck to keep him in view.
We shared so much of ourselves for that short time, it’s hard to remember that she’s truly her own person now.
¿En qué piensas mi amor? What are you thinking my love?
En algo maravilloso, ¿no? I bet it’s something wonderful.
Stumbling Gracefully 