To your little girl

her marker is a paintbrush.

the walls are her canvas.

the window is a painting.

the stars are her inspiration.

Don’t make her grow up.

Let her paint comets on the walls.

Let her throw her head out of the window and taste the moonlight.

Let her dance in the rain and leap into puddles.

Let her stay up late and try to count the stars.

Because, one day, your little girl will grow up.

And when she does

To your not so little girl

 her marker will become a pencil.

her walls will become her prison.

her window will once again remain covered behind curtains.

She will live in a world with as many stresses as stars

And someday instead of painting the universe on her walls,

You will find her with a pencil in one hand

 and the world in the other.

But to her, they will weigh the same