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Tonight she is bent, worried, jarred by life, tiny in her skirted romper, the flower print falling loosely. She's been crying.
Just a touch between her shoulder blades, the tight muscles responding. A push. Touch on her collar bones. A stroke up her neck. The body remembers, the compassionate, strong woman suddenly filling her happy clothes.
Later, after burgers and fries and laughter, she danced down Duke's stairs into Georgetown, holding my arm, then spun along the sidewalk, skirt flying, long impossibly pale legs over absurdly high black heels, dancing, all eyes on her, she doesn't notice. Just takes some selfies, her gleaming blue eyes on mine, then on her phone, twirling, my sweet Disney princess.
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- 2 years ago
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