National justwrite

I used to be so small I had to reach up to open doors, and the shallow end of the swimming pool would swallow me if I wasn't wearing water wings, unclipped and unfurled, and I thought when I got more than two dollars in my piggy bank that I would buy a piece of land, just a modest piece big enough to unroll a sleeping bag and imagine a roof to keep the birds safe when they curl up with me at night. I knew I'd call it a Nation and write my own constitution three words long, or maybe five, or maybe three because "I love you. You're beautiful." is a little too complicated sometimes or maybe I would fill all the pages with words, or the whole parchment because every nation should be founded on parchment laid out on the grass, muddy fingerprints on the edges, a purple crayon tracing the same three words over and over until all the parchment in the world is full. And that would be my constitution. And my Nation would be a place where anyone could bring their sick teddy bears to get free bandaids and free lollipops, and even a free coloring book if they were about to start school where we'd take turns being teachers and the teddy bears would learn to tie shoes and learn to pick berries in bare feet without getting splinters and learn that naptime is really dreamtime, and we'd teach our bears sign language so they could talk to us when we couldn't listen and we'd try to stay up all night to count the stars before we'd realize they move sometimes and fade sometimes. I'd invite the leaders of other Nations for invisible tea, and we'd have a parents' weekend where everyone could pick their own parents or be parents or just be friends because who really needs parents in a Nation with my constitution. But we'd find them anyway and no one would need bumper stickers that say, "Did you hug your children today?" because no one wants a bumper sticker with such an obvious answer. And every night we'd lay out on our giant sleeping bag with our teddy bears and rag dolls and velvet-eared rabbits and plushie caterpillars and we'd read our constitution in low bedtime voices until the whole world fell asleep and dreamed about waterwings, unclipped and unfurled, and being beautiful and finding rocks shaped like hearts and sea glass with the sharp edges worn away and the sky full of stars echoing I love you I love you I love you.