She was the little mermaid, in our world but never of it. Never in all her years with us did she come to understand us. And yet never did she fail to delight in us. And never once did she complain that she could never be one of us, even though this was what she wanted most from her brief, perfect life.
I gave her nothing, and it was everything to her. She gave me everything, and too often it was nothing to me. She never lost sight of me, if she could help it, but I never saw her fully until she was gone forever from my life. The little mermaid is everywhere if you look for her — except no one ever does. But the little mermaid lives her life her way, always, regardless of how you or I might fail to live up to ours.
She was born perfect in a perfect place, where there was nothing to question or doubt, where pain was fleeting, where fear was temporary and in the end almost always comical. Her days were filled with raucous, rough-housing play, her nights with a busily tumbling slumber. Every day was the same, free of every care, and yet every day was a new adventure, a new challenge, a new triumph, a new reason to celebrate the unlimited wonderfulness of everything.
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Volume One of The Naso Diaries