When I was a really young girl my mother would snatch her hand away, hiss through her teeth and shout out "Wild Child!"
I was, I would snarl and growl like a little boy and play in the woods. I would take my barbies to climb trees towering at 6 foot. I scraped my knees trying to rollerblade down gravel ridden roads and dug into mud to find a worm not necessarily paying attention to the dirt that threatened its way underneath my finger nails.
Wild Child; It sort of stuck and even with my mother gone and only seeing my Dad on occasion.
For a good year and a even better summer I followed my girls into clubs, lights flickering over head and drunken girls squealing in delight. I was apart of that and every now and then I still am.
I have no idea what's going on.
Would often be a phrase that would cycle in my head and waking up now.
Waking up in a far more productive state I've become entranced by long elbows and soft hands on my side.
I'm stifled by generous affection and nearly puzzled by honest adoration.
I'm happy.
The more I smile the farther that voice gets.
"Wild child!" becomes less audible with time and I'm reminded how nice it is.
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