Mostly everyone said I looked beautiful. They would say congratulations, because they think I am my sister. They pass me by and think I am young.
The first time we think about boys is a summer dressed Sunday, a singing in clover, a pause, wondering what color the sunlight looks through our hair. Becoming women in this place, I have wondered if we really knew what we are doing or ever will. I liked riding in his car, bass heartbeating through my skin, and that one's eager call, his clumsy hand, this one's gentle smiles, yet loving and inside loving most, the Boy with a silver hart. I am told there is a time for timing. So you do what is right and then wait, and wait. Wondering each moment if I am alone. I was a million times wrong, and we all more than we knew meant never to hurt anyone.
Under the ash tree yesterday we opened the door to Rabbit's cage. A few soft wonder steps and a lightning leap to the field, ears toward Sanctuary. Spring. Life. Timing.
I learn it through the losses.
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