You have grown so much, so differently , but i shy away from saying it.
You handle things so efficiently, men, work, and more but you are still my little girl.
You brush through some books , call for the taxi ,adjust your hair ,
step tall on your stilletos, stack your certificates in a file .
You wear your make-up well ,but i can see through those patches that you are nervous about this interview.
Your birth certificate is as old as you - yellowed with time,
i run my hands on its many creases and folds.i pick it up
and a whiff of Napthalene hits me.
The stubborn dog ears just refuse to straighten up .
As i wave to you , i am somehow reminded of the "Picture of Dorian Gray".
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