She doesn’t know it yet. There will be no documentation of her younger years. No photos, but for this blurry black and white on her grandma’s stairs. But she’s watching. She’s tucking the words up sleeves before dreaming. She’s filling her heart with what was, what wasn’t, what could actually be… And she will write her own story. Daily. She will paint her own portrait, without reference — by heart. 

Always. Everything by heart.

Note: It’s not an accident that this morning, merely hours after finishing my self portrait of youth, I received confirmation in my French lesson. The new phrase of the day was par cœur — meaning “by heart.” I smile, wondering how long she had that tucked up her sleeve.