Yet, so far removed that I only peer in from a distance.
Two sisters exchange love.
And I'm one of theirs, too -- we're three -- yet I'm so not like them.
I'm not a part of what they have as two.
Years have healed me and I'm okay. Still, I ache.
I watch them.
It feels like I'm standing behind an imaginary line that divides us.
Hands wrapped around eyes to get a good, close look from a distance of miles and miles in between.
I see beauty in them and through them.
Growing hearts and maturing minds. Beautiful creatives.
I love them. Yet, I hardly know them.
Our stories are just beginning. On Earth, and with each other.
I trust this to be true.
Though I'm a decade a half older than them each (and then some for one), they are a part of me.
Sisters of the same father.
The "us" feels strange. Complicated. And I feel clumsy.
I'm taking steps to pursue adopting, and I can't help considering this dynamic we have.
I deeply massage a thought about what my own story might reflect to another.
There's purpose in what I've lived and continue to live. I trust this.
He'll use every part of our sister-hood.
For me. For you. For the ones who come after us and in between us.
And even for the ones who came before us.
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