Watching

No one was watching her. Surrounded by wonders on the playroom floor, one chubby little hand firmly gripping the page, the other thrust through it. No one was watching. Fingers closed on fur and the cat didn’t fight her as she brought it forth, into the world. And no one was watching.

No one watched as she grew older. Going to the kitchen for a juice box, book in hand.

“Watch where you’re going, kid.”

But no one watched as she read the words aloud and birds flew off the page, alighting on the windowsill for just a moment before flying off into the sky.

Older still, whole worlds moved to her words but no one noticed, no one saw. Finally, alone in a place of her own, she sat and pulled down a careworn book. One she’d read a thousand times, but never aloud. Today, she spoke the name. And when the young woman who had so entranced the young reader stepped into the world, finally there was someone who would watch.

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