You are perfect; Too cute to look at and too fierce to ignore.

You're a quiet, fuzzy little monster with big eyes, a cute nose, and fun clothes.

I want to come with you. I want to... to dress you in ridiculous outfits and take pictures. [I want] to snap photos of you standing akimbo and staring directly into me through my camera's plastic lens. I want to capture [you] on my expired film and develop it and paste you into second-hand photo albums.

Few men are lucky enough to notice. Even fewer bother to pause. Non of these men take time to imagine what goes on inside your head. It doesn't matter. They'd be wrong. No one would imagine the dirty things you do. Even after all these years I can't imagine the dirty things you want to do.

And what of the dirty things while, more importantly, there are haunting thoughts that race through your mind. The rotted corpse you see hanging from trees. Shadows that slip beneath doors and crawl up your legs. Packs of wild dogs snarling behind unlocked gates.

What is going on?

Now that I'm older and have willfully given up, I can take myself outside of myself and pretend to understand a bit more than I did.

You're a quiet, little girl with monsters inside.