six

,
Six.

You are now six Mb.

I see you change every day. I see the passion that you instill in

every.
little.
thing.

that you do.


I see you struggle and sweat to accomplish things alone, independently. Cursing those that would like to help because you *need* to do things your way, even if the outcome is not what you wanted.

You love scissors. You love to cut things out and collect them. Things that to me, the uneducated, seem random and odd. You have a gift, an ability to see beauty every where and in every thing.

You loathe maths but love space, shape and symmetry.

You have a fondness for rude words, and collect and store them in a special compartment in your brain. Rarely uttering them but consuming a new one like a delicious treat. I see you rolling the words round in your head, and know that I can do nothing about it whilst they stay in there.

You are unique and I love you.