I glance at the photograph on my desk: a head of curly hair, two beady brown eyes, and twenty tiny white teeth look back at me.

I catch my own reflection in the glass separating me from her. Or is it there to protect her like a capsule, trying to preserve what once was?

I think she never left. 

She’s still inside of me.

I look at her smile, that joyful spark in her eyes.

 I wonder how long it took the people behind the camera to make her that happy. 

But she was happy.

Oh yes, she was happy.

And the girl on the other side of the glass, she wants to be happy like her.

Whatever I do, I do for her.

Whatever I say, I say to her.

Whatever I think, I think about her.

Whenever I put myself down, I put her down.

I don’t want that spark to fly away in her eyes. 

In our eyes.

So I’ve got to try not to crack under pressure.

I’ve got to relax, reflect, and revel in how far we’ve come. 

And as I go forward, closer to the future, I’ll be sure to take her out of the capsule

 and put her on display.

So they can see beyond the photo, 

beyond the glass.

 Beyond into her; beyond into me.