She was the cutest thing I have ever seen, little Sarah Jane. Mummy dearest always took the greatest care and pleasure in fashioning that soft hair into pigtails. Her cheeks were so pink and so soft that I could never resist kissing them. I love that little girl, she was the cutest thing I have ever seen.
Each morning, ten am, just before I go off for that thing called work at the little cafe on Mercy Avenue, she bounces up to me with the biggest grin and demands her morning dose of hugs and kisses from me. And most days, I get jam prints all over my face as she pinches my cheeks and tells me she loves me, the way everyone else does to her. I mind jam prints, but never the ones from her. Her jam prints were love prints that I carefully wipe off before I arrive at that cafe round the corner.
And each night, seven pm, just before I could turn the keys to lock the door I hear her little footsteps running towards me to give me that goodnight kiss before she goes off to bed. And I, I would look forward to picking her up and kissing her soft cheeks goodnight and carry her off to her bed to tuck her in where mummy dearest, I, could read her favourite book to her until her sweet eyes close and her sweet dreams begin. Then I usually spend about a minute or two just looking at her sweet face, she was the cutest thing I have ever seen, little Sarah Jane. She was and I love seeing her, everyday.
Except, I only see her when I am sleeping. My little Sarah Jane. And only when I am sleeping I can wipe the jam prints with my fingers and then lick the sweet taste of strawberry jam, and only when I am sleeping can I kiss them soft cheeks goodnight and then again in the morning. So everyday Sarah Jane, wake and goes back to sleep again, while I am sleeping. And everyday dear Sarah Jane waits till I close my sweet eyes and begin my sweet dreams before she comes a-running to me, ready to give me them sweet jam prints. Those were the sweetest jam prints, and she was the cutest thing I have ever seen. My little Sarah Jane.
My ltitle Sarah Jane. I often long for her, my little Sarah Jane, to be real beyond that pink screen called dream.
