To the little girl on C/San Pablo last Sunday
I don’t know what her parents have planned for her. What school they’ll struggle to send her to, what career they’ll point her toward. I don’t know what her own goals will be, how she’ll plan out her career, whether she’ll marry well and gift her mother with grandchildren. I don’t know how they’ll all plan for old age, whether she’ll be ready to take care of her parents and later herself. Or if they plan to bring her a brother or sister to play and grow old with.
I only know her as she is right now, this moment. Face pressed against the window glass, two hands plastered to the pane above her. A lost sprite wandered in from the forest, jubilant at the sight of people. Singing. HOLA! HOLA! HOLA! Loud as she can, louder with every motherly tug on her sleeve. Blue eyes dancing, dark silken curls bouncing around her head. HOLA! HOLA! HOLA!
I only know her ecstasy.