There are times I feel like I could write a sonnet about the way her eyelashes look against her cheek. Or about the way her mouth rests when she sleeps. Or the crook of her elbow. The bottom of her feet. Eleanor is nineteen months old and perfect. Did I feel this way about Matt? I think I must have but guiltily worry that I didn’t. I could write
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I can relate to this so much. And you don’t forget. You never forget.
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"...those moments between seconds..." Perfect! And time stood still for me while I read it. Beautiful.
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