When your eyes are turned outwards, you do your best to stretch the distance between the two of you.
Notice the distinction.
She is not stacked inside of you like a nesting doll, but cut out like a piece of paper.
When your eyes are turned inwards, the distance between you shrinks. It’s an uncomfortable closeness,
but here you are, cheek-to-cheek.
It’s hard not to feel embarrassed when you look at her gapped-teeth and pigtails.
It’s hard not to feel sorry when she points to your short hair and reminds you that you always wanted to grow it
out long.
Tell her how you do things she always wanted to do;
You cross the street without holding anyone’s hand, you read old books with no pictures.
In return, she reminds you of the smell of sunscreen and the sound of rubber shoes against linoleum floor,
Running down the hall and bursting through the door, out onto the playground,
Hot sun beating down, sweat sticking your bangs to your forehead.