by L.A. Craig
The wrapping paper promises much; shiny pink butterflies dance and flutter across its surface, the cerise ribbon bow imitating their wings. I can’t be there on your birthday, so I’ll give it to you early; an extra few days to wonder at its contents. Poking and prodding, you’ll guess all things girly, but you’ll be wrong. By the time your birthday gets here, you’ll have wound yourself into a frenzy; euphoric with excitement at what the day will bring. My present will become lost amongst a pile of many others; you’ll forget who gave you what in the confusion of mass unwrapping. Only seven, I’ll forgive you, I just hope it doesn’t disappoint.
L.A. Craig lives in Newcastle in the U.K.