Ten year old Calista.

That's all she was,

Back when she had a hand to hold,

Curlers in her hair,

Pink on her cheeks.

She had had a cat.

A black one with little white spots.

She had had dress,

Prettier then her others,

Little blue bows,

Lots of layers.

She had had a Daddy,

The finest of Daddys,

With a little scruff on his chin.

He had hugged her, sometimes.

When he wasn't at work,

Just sitting at the table,

Head in his hands.

Calista wanted to, but she never asked,

What's wrong?

Thought things would be fine.

She had her little things,

And the little things were what mattered.

Then she saw him looking,

Those ugly bottles,

And she knew he wanted one.

Escape. Just one little sip.

But she told him no.

She liked her Daddy,

No bottles for him.

They only had eachother.

That was enough.

Still, Calista worried,

We are almost nothing.

Will we disappear?

She hadn't realized how much she had.

She knew now of course.

It's funny how much you know when the world ends.