You will be reading about her.

You will be following her song to the ends of this earth.  You will scour every store for the single unclaimed Dora doll or Monkeyboots balloon or bag of chocolate-encrusted pretzels.  You will watch her little fingers work, and they will evoke for you a long ago, an urgent present tense. 



And you will feel her arms around you long after you have driven away; you will hear her in your dreams that night:  Cheese.  Cheese.  Cheese.  Thank you.