Now close your eyes for a second and imagine yourself 3 years old. Dig into the tightest crevices of your cerebrum . You’ve never met the 3 year old you. Yet you remember instances from that little person. and especially 3 primary things. The things that define you, define her and define whatever could have happened.
Smell you just can’t forget..a sense you can’t deafen. and only gets stronger if you don’t use it. Mom’s cooking, the mountain air, and her hair. Her hair which smelled like a freshly reaped wheat field. Rich, golden, humble.
Sounds she made as we fell a sleep. The half word, the half moan the half open lips. It’s the sound that brought me home, to my home, to her home.
Her Eyes? I saw the world through her eyes… the eyes that saw me, i saw. She looked at the photographs i took; some she didn’t care for, some she took, Sometimes i thought ” she should be the one photographing.. with those eyes, she must see the world better than i can.
I remember it all
How old am I?
I am 4…