Almost Seven
This past May, I received the email I’d been hoping for. The exciting news was that my submission had been selected for publication in Little Thoughts Press's fourteenth issue, all about traditions. I jumped for joy, shared the news with my family, and celebrated with another small tradition, getting a small bundt cake.
Almost Seven is dear to my heart for many reasons. It’s my first published piece of writing, which alone makes it feel like magic. But more than that, it tells the story of traditions my parents created over twenty years ago for each of us kids. A birthday tradition that made every one of us feel seen and celebrated growing up, and that is still standing true into adulthood. In many ways, this story is a thank-you letter to my parents for the world they built for us.
Working with Chris, my older brother, made this even more special. We’d been brainstorming ways to collaborate for a while, and this was the perfect chance to make it happen. Together, we reimagined what those traditions felt like through a child’s eyes, building a miniature set to capture the whimsy and wonder in a photo illustration. Recreating that feeling, trying to bottle that exact magic our parents gave us, was one of the most joyful creative processes I’ve been a part of.
I’ve been waiting patiently ever since to finally share this with the world finally, and now I get to. Thank you to Little Thoughts Press for the honor, and to Chris for bringing this story to life with me. Here’s hoping this is just the beginning of many more collaborations!
Almost Seven
I whisper to the butterflies in my tummy,
“Go to sleep now.”
But they don’t listen.
They flutter and tumble and bump against my ribs
like they’re trying to peek in the morning before I do.
I squeeze my eyes shut until they crinkle at the corners.
I press my blanket over my head, building a small, warm cave of almost-seven.
Because when I open my eyes next—
I won’t be six anymore.
I will be seven.
Seven feels taller.
Seven feels braver.
Seven feels like the kind of age that knows how to tie its own shoes
and maybe even keep a secret or two.
I try very hard not to spoil the surprise—
even though I already know exactly what waits for me.
Paper chains looping from wall to wall,
color spilling across the ceiling.
Balloons scattered so thick across the floor
I won’t see the rug,
only a sea of bright, bobbing morning.
Balloons taped to the bathroom mirror
so even my reflection looks like it’s celebrating.
Streamers hanging in every doorway—
soft curtains I will push through
like I am stepping onto a stage
where everyone has been waiting for me.
Last year there were pink pancakes,
because pink was my favorite when I was six.
But tomorrow I will be seven.
And seven is purple.
Purple like petals on a flower.
Purple like the sky just as the sun starts to rise.
Purple is like something new and important.
I squeeze my eyes tighter.
I can hear it now—
the hush of tape pulling,
the whisper of paper twisting,
the careful footsteps of love moving through the dark.
The butterflies are wide awake.
And so am I.
