Does She Look… Different?

By ‘different’ I don’t mean like the milk man. I mean physically different.

Seriously, look at her… doesn’t she seem older or something?

Yes, yes. I know that technically she is older; every minute of every day, we are all getting older.

But I swear she looks remarkably more… I dunno…. mature? than she did when I kissed her goodbye as she slept off her 5am shot of boob juice from a bottle served up by her secondary dealer, yours truly (I’m just the middle man, marking up the product to make a little profit).

Upon reexamination of the photo, she doesn’t seem all that different after all.

Perhaps I am only projecting my 2007 self to look through the eyes of my 2020 self. And through those 50+ year old eyes (ack!), I see my little girl, an angst ridden teenager fighting to be the adult she so badly wants to be, but isn’t. Which she blames on me, and rightfully so, because I won’t let her grow up that fast.

Or maybe I saw her 2050 eyes, looking back at her old man trying to remember what he was like when he had more than two marbles rolling around in his head (but not much more sense).

If it was the latter, I hope the 2050 Squeaker saw a father who loves her dearly. If it was the former, I hope we can both make it out the other side… not unscathed, per se, but not so damaged that decades later, she has to conjure up thoughts of herself as an infant to remember what was good about me.

Or perhaps it’s the lack of sleep talking.

All I know is that she’s got eyes so blue, the waters of the Caribbean weep with jealousy.