I watched from the corner as

Azura looked at herself in the

mirror; her hair trailed down

to her sides as she slid her

finger around her round belly.

Six months.

Six months of crying and

giggling, six months of

painting the way her tummy

grows, six months of ice cream

and lemons and mashed

potatoes.

Azura pulled a sweater over

her head, only to find how it

had shrunk. Or how she had

grown.

The smile I loved

disappeared and instead, a

smile of sadness and melancholy

tickled her lips.

I sat down next to her and picked

up the dark brush in my hand as

I stroked a few words of honesty.

Azura looked over my shoulder

to only find,

You are beautiful.