Originally uploaded by thordora
There’s just something about sisters.
I don’t really have one. I mean, I have one, technically, if blood is a technicality that counts. I know she’s around and she’s made it clear that I’m the bad guy and well, what can you do? I know who I look like and who looks like me and who matters. Who really matters.
But we aren’t sisters in the regular way. I look at my girls and I see this shared life they’re both attached to, fingers and hair wrapped around each other, inexorably part of each other’s lives. I see the way that they ebb and flow around each other, one’s whining voice cresting in the tired eyes being rubbed in another corner. I see the way they look at each other, with devotion, with love, and occasionally ire, and imagine 20 years from now, their lives full with each other, even while they bicker and they fight.
I’m asked often if they’re twins, as we walk down the road, as we wait in a line, and I smirk about Irish twins and hold my hands on their heads and let their warmth sink through my fingers like a hot potato on a winter night. They fill my days and heart, and their future fills my eyes.
Without me, they will be each other, a contained unit to lean against until the end of days. I step back to watch.