This could have easily been a dream.
Your laughter, I mean.
Your blue eyes. Your silly smile showing those six teeth oh so determined to poke through that we were the only house on the block with our lights on at 3 am.
Your hair and how it parts perfectly after a bath.
This could have easily been a dream, the way you looked at me for the very first time, on your mother’s chest, crying wildly. I said your name—I said Eleanor—and you turned your head to me and your eyes opened. For the very first time in your life, your eyes opened and you saw me, your father, and it could have easily been a dream.
Like the way you learned to say dada first.
Like the way your mouth made a perfect little “O” when you saw something new.
Like the way you looked out the second story window of our small apartment in Detroit, waving waving waving as I left for work.
Like the way you learned to blow kisses by placing your hand to your mouth and clicking.
Like the way you brighten up a room the moment you enter it.
Like the way you brightened my life the moment you entered it.
This could have easily been a dream, this past year. It could have easily been a dream and I could have woken up at any moment and said I knew it was too good to be true and continued on with another day but that never happened.
You are here. And yes, it is too good to be true, but you’re the closest thing to the truth I’ve yet to find.
This could have easily been a dream, but it isn’t.
You are here.
You are here and you are everything, love.