i knew a little girl

i knew a little girl; she would sit on the counter, her eyes creasing below her bangs while smiling and mixing dough, holding a spatula too big for her hands i knew a little girl who pressed her face against the door, begging her mother to turn on the oven light once more i knew a girl who was timid yet expressive, her voice was not measured in words, but instead the amount she respected i knew how her silent song was sang, and reached all who loved her in a loud way i used to know the taste of the food she made and the expression of excitement to know she baked i know familiarity and sometimes rememberence but some things i am not as of a stranger for my memory to encompass i will always know the girl who stood at the counter, her eyes filled with tears and long hair tied back, holding the spatula that raised her the girl that would make herself a meal, but would spiral at the thought of eating it and the pain she would feel i may not recall all the notes the little girl sang, or the exact way they rang but i will always remember how they matured and that's why i live to make it up to her