Fairy dust, flowers and feathers

Fairy dust, flowers and feathers

Yours is the tutu with the cut edges and dirt stains across its front. It sits there in the horse pasture as they walk around it, waiting for your return.

The house is quiet without you here the past couple days. There are no potions upon the floor, no toothpaste smears across the doors and no baking soda remnants or vinegar odours emitting from my bed.

There is no real mess without you. But there are no surprises, either.

No glitter inside my shoes as I exit the door for work, no shiny beads waiting for me on my dresser drawer.

Last night I cleared the rocks from inside my purse, the feathers and dried flowers too, and placed them in a row on the table, as you would have liked me to. I stocked back up on toothpaste, too, like the fool I am.

When you return, the colours blue, pink, purple and red will be mixed again, resulting always in a deep hue of brown for me to find slopped from the bathroom door to our front step- your attempt to take your masterpieces outside, as we’ve asked you so many times.

“I specifically asked you not to waste the ____” will rise out of my mouth again, in a fluster, as I find you holing away with your creations once more, expensive face creams, sunscreens, deodorants and milk being dumped into large silver bowls as your potions’ main base.

Your creativity can be my frustration, it is true, but it is who you are.

Spontaneous and unassuming slime and doughs make up our days, within our walls, spilt across our deck, or from your seat in the back of my fruit fly infested car where I came to find your latest creation, living inside the wall of your car door.

You’re not a fan of direction, of social settings or formal learning. You’re not particularly interested in anyone’s ideas but your own. Your face is always your giveaway, whether you tried to hide your going’s on with your cleaned hands or not. Your hair is a busy bee’s nest of destruction. And some day, that will be your edge up in this world. Some day, I hope your slime will move mountains for you.

Until then, my stained slime towels await your return and my multipurpose cleaner, too. The bathroom things are hidden again, but I know that won’t matter.

You are my challenge, as you ought to be. Determined, sensitive, experimental, inventive, clever, resourceful and imaginative you. You are unusual, and you are mine.

One more carefree week in the sunshine, my girl. Your tutu waits for you.

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