Little flower of mine

Your sunflower smell sticks to my skin like burrs on socks. A sticky sweet scent, like sweat and suntan lotion. Memories of your curly blonde hair clinging to me like seaweed. Pattering through my brain, your feet leave muddy footprints all over my frontal cortex. I think about hot summer days when I would wrap you up in your froggy towel like a fuzzy blanket after bath time. When you poked your button nose out to ask for kisses, and we snuggled on the couch to watch cartoons. Flowing and receding, the reflections come in waves. I think a lot about those days. About your heart shaped shades and periwinkle ribbons, and the tumultuous laughs during Saturday morning tickles. I think about the hourglass that is our lives, and how each day more sand trickles to the bottom. So I savor those hot summer nights of drippy ice cream cones and chaotic bathtimes and soft curly hair and suntan lotion. I breathe in deeply and take in each memory, each wave, and I hope you never stop snuggling closer to fall asleep on my shoulder.