Sister, I didn't think you'd cry. I turned to express my pleasure over the utility of the bag I got for free and you were a red face melting.
That's all I needed, your honest feeling, to carry me to our hours running forest park, talking people, sharing what we couldn't brag to anyone else.
"Meet me in my apartment--7am"
You would be late, but I wouldn't be ready.
One text, "Can you talk?" and I'd climb the stairs to 6B, sit on your leather pillow puffs and blubber and cry.
It was so much--the pleasure of being an opinion you respect. You would say, "Mmm. that's true." And, I felt important to you sister. I could bring mind and emotion to the naked soul you shared with me.
There was me, chuckling to myself and an empty car when something little--needing the car for errands--would frazzle you. You who earned "Dependable and steady" as adjectives from Jariel and "A rock" as a noun from Mama.
My words to describe you are honest, focused tranquility with splatters of human mistake.
Your eyes draw anything I feel out of me--the snot, the eye-rain, and the jubilant explosions you fear would cause turmoil if released to the world at large.
What if our eyes have a password, a specific color of iris they recognize. If your patterns of ocean, forest-green, and mineral soil are specific for the soul behind my eyes. Your gaze reaches my direction and "access granted." Except, you don't even have to step inside because the door to my soul is a dam holding back antsy toddlers--fear, pride, exuberance, and despair--that run at you uninhibited, craving the contact of the Toria-Sister who released them?
That is a little bit of what you do for me.
