Hazel G as a Little Girl
For the girl in the summer hat, and the dream she carried in her basket.
I recently came across a childhood photo of myself–about two years old, in a polka-dot dress, wearing a summer hat, a tiny basket on my arm. I’m waving at the camera with such innocent certainty.
My first instinct when I looked at her was to apologize.
To say: I’m sorry–
For everything and everyone I allowed to hurt you.
The heartbreak, the silences, the weight of dreams deferred…
This photo now sits where I can see it often, so I can remember that little girl… her quiet hope, her unshaped dreams, and the way she moved through the world with trust in things unseen.
Like a quiet reminder of who I was before the world tried to shape me otherwise.
As I kept looking at it, I felt something I couldn’t quite name.
So, I wrote a little poem for her.
For the little girl who waved without knowing who might wave back.
For anyone who’s ever walked through the world with a quiet hope, waving hello, and carrying dreams far too big for their hands.
Here’s to those who waved anyway.
I recently came across a childhood photo of myself–about two years old, in a polka-dot dress, wearing a summer hat, a tiny basket on my arm. I’m waving at the camera with such innocent certainty.
My first instinct when I looked at her was to apologize.
To say: I’m sorry–
For everything and everyone I allowed to hurt you.
The heartbreak, the silences, the weight of dreams deferred…
This photo now sits where I can see it often, so I can remember that little girl… her quiet hope, her unshaped dreams, and the way she moved through the world with trust in things unseen.
Like a quiet reminder of who I was before the world tried to shape me otherwise.
As I kept looking at it, I felt something I couldn’t quite name.
So, I wrote a little poem for her.
For the little girl who waved without knowing who might wave back.
For anyone who’s ever walked through the world with a quiet hope, waving hello, and carrying dreams far too big for their hands.
Here’s to those who waved anyway.
The Girl With the Cracker Bread
(for the one she once waved to)
She waves,
a basket on her arm,
hat tipped just-so
to shield her dreams
from the sun.
A package of cracker bread peeks out,
as though she's been shopping
for joy,
for someone to hand it to,
someone who might say,
“What a great idea.”
She doesn’t know yet
about silence,
about waiting rooms in the soul,
or how a glance can become
a ghost that lingers
for decades.
She only knows
how to offer.
How to hope.
Years later,
she’ll write stories about him–
a man made of books and quiet warmth–
about the day he noticed her spark
and how that notice
lit an entire decade.
But for now,
she just waves.
And maybe,
somewhere,
in a version of the world
that’s more merciful than this one,
he waves back.
–Hazel Elif G.
(for the one she once waved to)
She waves,
a basket on her arm,
hat tipped just-so
to shield her dreams
from the sun.
A package of cracker bread peeks out,
as though she's been shopping
for joy,
for someone to hand it to,
someone who might say,
“What a great idea.”
She doesn’t know yet
about silence,
about waiting rooms in the soul,
or how a glance can become
a ghost that lingers
for decades.
She only knows
how to offer.
How to hope.
Years later,
she’ll write stories about him–
a man made of books and quiet warmth–
about the day he noticed her spark
and how that notice
lit an entire decade.
But for now,
she just waves.
And maybe,
somewhere,
in a version of the world
that’s more merciful than this one,
he waves back.
–Hazel Elif G.
If you’re reading this and perhaps thinking about your own small self–waving, hoping, not yet knowing–this is for you too.
For every moment you offered your heart into silence, for every glance that stayed too long in your memory.
May you find peace with the ghosts, and may you wave again–not in search of approval, but as a gesture to yourself.
A way to say: I’m still here. And I’m beginning… again.
#InnerChild #CreativeHealing #MemoirInVerse #WavingAnyway
For every moment you offered your heart into silence, for every glance that stayed too long in your memory.
May you find peace with the ghosts, and may you wave again–not in search of approval, but as a gesture to yourself.
A way to say: I’m still here. And I’m beginning… again.
#InnerChild #CreativeHealing #MemoirInVerse #WavingAnyway
