A little orange-haired child,
Stares wide-eyed out of a bus window.
A small grin tugged the left corner of her mouth.
Her little pink sneaker encased feet,
Barely clearing the blue bus seat,
In front of her.

Her petite thumb, fingers the thickly,
Woven seatbelt strapped around her waist,
Pulled tight.
Her equally orange-haired older sister,
Makes sure of this every day,
Then takes her seat next to the child.

Who suddenly appears incredibly sleepy.
Her unoccupied hand reaches up to her closing eyes,
And rubs one of them with fingers spread.
Her sister looks lovingly down at her,
Smiling ever so slightly.
I subconsciously smile as well.

I quickly glance out the window,
Across from me, it was,
Half hidden by her mass of curls.
I realize time is quickly running out.

I panic because I know she won’t be,
The same tomorrow,
Won’t talk the same, won’t walk the same,
Won’t have the same opinions, decisions,

She won’t be the same,
She will be different.
I scramble, trying to fit it all in.

She looks so still, peaceful,
Completely oblivious to my haste.
I capture her with seconds to spare

She is alive forever on these pages,

Never changing, continuing to be.