me and my souster B


Someone asked, seriously,  if we were sisters. "You have the same smile," she said. And it's true. When she smiles, she looks like me. Or I look like her. We have wide grins that light up our faces. If she was nine months younger (and I had been a totally different sort of teenager instead of the late bloomer I was), she could be my daughter.

We have the same general body and face shape. I see all the beauty in her, but she's still finding it sometimes, worrying about calories and exercise. This world doesn't let a woman love her body unless she claims it fiercely. This is the work of a lifetime, it feels like some days. We're all learning to love ourselves unconditionally.

She said she'd grown up after living with us. She stopped wearing makeup. She stopped making desserts that she didn't want to eat, just to calm herself. She stopped shopping for fun, stopped wanting all the things. She's been giving things away. Letting the shoes with holes go.

Someone asked if we were sisters and she responded, "Yes, we're sousters!" and that was just the right answer. Soul-sisters, we are.

This is me and my souster B. I never missed her, because she was never gone.