Twenty years ago today at 5:00 in the morning a little girl was born. She was named Dawn, because she was born at sunrise. She grew up to love morning dew and the smell of chocolate next to a warm bubble bath. She's still a wild child, a lover of the world around her. She's filled with the curiousity of child yet knowledged in the ways of her elderly companions. I like to think that she knows she's beautiful, but her self-concious glances at a mirror tell her otherwise. She has her down days and her happy moments, just like everyone else. And today is her day, the day she came into the world, took her first breath, and grew one year from last year. She had a beautiful birthday, she always does. But the idea of growing up hasn't put her mind at ease. A room in her caravan is still dedicated to toys. Although she is officially no longer of youth, of teenage years, she still so dearly treasures the habits of toddlers and ten year olds.
