Someone who believes in me

The boy spies the large sheets of paper on the wall, covered in words and diagrams and post-its.  He begins to read the words and his eyes ask me a question.

“That’s to help me plan the book I’m writing,” I tell him.

His eyes grow huge.  He looks delighted.  I have grown and changed in his mind.  He hugs me.  I have become amazing.

He doesn’t see the obstacles or the what-ifs or the hard work.  He sees only the sheer brilliance of writing a book.

I see the nine-year-old he is and the nine-year-old I once was, dreaming big dreams.

I see someone who believes in me.