I see you. I’m not just saying that. In the set of her jaw, the wayward curl of her hair and the furrow of her dark brows. It’s been years since you were with us. The half-wink of your eye. Your wrist bending back in on itself, narrowed with atrophy. Your fingers straightened, splayed with palsy. The childish joy of your crooked smile. You used to lick butter and tread on our toys at Christmas. I don’t know when - just when - we lost you. I never will. But she will know of you. I promise you that.
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"Classic"
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