A photograph of two little girls, sisters, a couple years apart, bent over a table concentrating on their artwork. Another one, sitting this time arms around each other on the front porch of their house, the littlest one clutching a blankie, looking up a little at the bigger one. Such big smiles. A third: the littlest one leaning against the bigger one on the couch, lying together watching a movie, perfectly comfortable.

My heart aches over sisters. The casual, sure way the older sister’s hand rests on the younger’s arm. The ease with which they lean into each other. Just like I’d imagined. Just like I’d dreamed all those months. Except that they are not mine, and they never will be.

 

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