Caregiver/Little Gothic
- ‘who’s daddy’s little girl?’ you are. you’ve always been daddy’s little girl. you always will be daddy’s little girl. it has never not been so.
- you open your box of pacifiers. you have every color known to man, and several known only to shrimp. each time you remove a pacifier to play with, a new one appears, each a different color than the last. you press a hand to the bottom of the pacifier box. it’s warm. you think you feel a soft heartbeat. you tip the box over to empty it, but pacifiers never stop falling. your house overflows with pastels and creams and bright primary colors and shades you’ve never dreamed of. the box never empties.
- your caregiver brings you a cookie when you ask for a snack, and you giggle and smile. then they bring you a cookie when you ask for a bath. when you ask for a movie. soon you are engulfed in a pile of cookies. the sprinkles hum a lullaby. they are your caregiver now.
