I will not be the one to rip the beauty of the world from your eyes and restore in its place a blindfold of darkness. I will read you fairytales in bed and sing you lullabies to sleep for as long as you want it, no, more than that, I will whisper to you that books are a unique medium which transcend print, and that someday when you are older and even when you are young you will watch these images soaring from these very pages you once pored over, fluttering into your cupped hands like songbirds. You will grow up into a dreamer at once conscious and wildly imaginative of your time and space. You will learn to paint on your canvas with bold strokes and tune timid ones into beautiful intricacy. And when I am old, you will teach these same things back to me, rewrite the faded edges of parchment, a splash of colour on yellowed sheets, laugh life back into forgetful memory. You beautiful girl, because we are never too old to learn and relearn.