She is thin and lovely, more likely to adopt her brother's hand me downs than raid my closet. She is shorn - spiky and edgy locks - and for many years bemoaned her long tresses, always asking to cut them off. She is nothing like me.
She is painfully shy and silent in public situations yet with her friends often the most outgoing, in-your-face and loud. She is opinionated and unafraid to speak against injustice, no matter who she speaks against. She would rather not be celebrated or called to attention, even on her birthday. She is nothing like me.
She is angry and sullen, prone to moodiness and then to an unsolicited apology. She is sensitive to others and yet unapologetic when she feels she is right. She is no people pleaser. She is nothing like me.
She is talented and smart, quietly striving and reaching for her dreams. She is sure of what she wants with a plan to make it so. She will not take no for an answer where her passion lay. She refuses social norms and requirements for her own brand of normal. She is nothing like me.
She is pragmatic and realistic, making easy paths to her goals rather than complicate them with the desires of others. She is more adult than I will ever be. She is nothing like me.
I love her with a fierceness, not because of any reflection she makes of myself, but because she reflects nothing of me. She is her own and that is immensely attractive. I love her because of her independence, although today it breaks my heart wide open. Today is the last day she is 14. Tomorrow I lose her a little more and my grip on her formation is loosened again. She is my daughter, she is nothing like me.