She terrifies me. Most often, she remains completely oblivious to the fact that she has done so. I attempt to keep it hidden. I do not want her to know that she has such power. Not yet anyway, and certainly not over me. She can stop my heart in an instant, with just a word. I catch my breath each time I hear her say my name. She has changed my life, for the better I am certain. Yet still, she terrifies me.

Loving her has been a learning experience. I do not mean that in a bad way. Every day she offers me something new for with which to cherish her. I was never a particularly gifted student, but I look forward to a lifetime of her lessons. I will try, but I know I do not stand a chance to learn them all, and still… she terrifies me.

She does not mean to instill such fear, this I know. There is not a malignant bone within her body. The terrors instilled by her are unintentional, though they are no less real despite that fact. I do not believe she could do anything to alleviate them, even if she knew how, or was willing to make an attempt.

She terrifies me, even now, as she calls out to me and I rush to her. I find her waiting atop a precipice, looking down. She is beckoning to courage. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, then looks at me and smiles one last time before she spreads her arms wide and pushes off.

“I can fly,” she cries, and I fear for her.

Because even as she goes rolling slowly by, on her brand new bike, I know the day will too soon arrive… that she will beg me...

to remove the training wheels.