Twelve is a volatile age. Long limbs and sharp angles, somehow her body is a metaphor for the way we communicate lately, our volume jagged, kinetic.
Crossing the street the other day, it dawned on me that it had been a really long time since I'd held her hand, remembered there was a time not so long ago that her hand was rarely not in mine, and I wonder if there's memory in the skin.
And then she grabs my hand in the night and I have my answer.
oh wow!!! Gasp**** you reminds me to hold their hands a little bit tighter... to treasure these fleeting moments... and give me hope for the future when they are older xx
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