When I look at this photo I don’t see a girl growing up too fast, trained to accept outward standards of beauty.
I see the way the one hand holds the other, the tentative gaze of the self, that contemplation of being, of fragile identity, of what it all means. A girl who deserves more time with her father, who merits the protection of all the gods, whose angels instantly curse all those who cross her.
And I just want her to be able to feel how much I love her.