I watched from the corner as
Azura looked at herself in the
mirror; her hair trailed down
to her sides as she slid her
finger around her round belly.
Six months.
Six months of crying and
giggling, six months of
painting the way her tummy
grows, six months of ice cream
and lemons and mashed
potatoes.
Azura pulled a sweater over
her head, only to find how it
had shrunk. Or how she had
grown.
The smile I loved
disappeared and instead, a
smile of sadness and melancholy
tickled her lips.
I sat down next to her and picked
up the dark brush in my hand as
I stroked a few words of honesty.
Azura looked over my shoulder
to only find,
You are beautiful.
