The girl who dreamed in color

Hey, little one, I still remember you, kneeling by the window, eyes wide with worlds you hadn’t seen yet. You asked for crayons, for glue, for the chance to make something beautiful but they never came, did they? They told you art was a waste of time, that grades meant more than colors. And I watched as your sketches faded, your dreams packed away in drawers labeled silly and unrealistic. You wanted to build, to paint, to bring light into form but their words broke your wings before you ever tried to fly. They said, you’ll take care of people, as if you couldn’t care through color, through design, through creation. And you believed them. You folded yourself into their shape until I barely recognized you. Now here I am twenty, and empty-handed, trying to remember the sound of your laughter before the silence settled in. But listen, little one none of this was your fault. They couldn’t see the world you were meant to build, so they tore down the plans. But that doesn’t mean the blueprint is gone. It still lives in me, in the quiet ache, in the dreams that whisper when everyone else is asleep. So don’t be afraid, okay? One day, I’ll draw again. I’ll buy the crayons you never had. I’ll paint us a place