me too

there's broken glass on the bathroom floor again. i sometimes wonder if our neighbors can hear the shatters through their wall, and if so, do they care. as i sweep up the pieces i can see my reflection on the ground looking pale. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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you always lovingly suggest i wear pants to school the next day, "you don't want anyone asking you what happened."

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i nod. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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as i pick up the last piece of glass with my fingers i realize how fragile we all are; your temper, my body, our family. maybe one day we can keep something intact for once. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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i wish I could say she grew old right before my eyes, but i don't believe that to be true. she appeared to inherit two decades worth of wrinkles and a slightly less energetic stride overnight. 

i have taken her aging body with a slight disinterest, until thinking of my own. when before she would rise at dawn and stay up past midnight, she now lays and rises to the sunlight, in almost complete synchronicity.  will i too wake up one morning with a new set of lines upon my face? 

will i move slower to accommodate life's change of pace? 

may you find the flowers and breeze you have always wanted.

i hope you have gained the confidence to wear your hair up like you practiced so many times before leaving the house with it down. i expect that your lips are still stained red from the beet juice you religiously drink every morning. and that you still smell of that sunflower perfume, the one that always made me sneeze. i sometimes miss your voice telling me to talk more, instead of just taking you in. 

i hope you found those flowers, and figured out that you are the breeze.