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i study her

notice every one of our differences

she's tall, but the soft sparkle of her eyes hints that she's friendly

i don't know what to say

the ringlets in my Rapunzel hair flutter across my face, so i fiddle to clear my view

i return to my scanning and spot a familiar freckle planted on her nose

i smile, giddy at finally finding a friend against her lumpy, speckled face.

she's older, but how old?

i stare deep into the bags under her eyes

more like suitcases, but her eyelashes seem to cover them like a privacy curtain

i hold the question in my heart and wait for her to hear it

it takes her longer than i thought.

she tilts her head, smiles as if i'm the child

but the words "mature" and "wise" run through my blood

so i hold my ground and keep waiting,

matching the rhythm of her fidgeting as she picks her nails and thinks.

sedici

sixteen, in Italian.

i don't know how i know it, i've learnt French my whole life but something about the way the word comes to my mind feels comforting.

so i return the favour

sept

seven, in French.

i see her puzzle through the almost-ten-years worth of distance

she sifts it and scans until she remembers

you still learn French?

oui.

surprise, if nothing else, cracks through her features and before i know it she's bent down, our matching green eyes locked on each other in an involuntary staring contest

but instead of waiting for her to smile again, i expect the pity and realise she's the one that's waiting.

for another question.

i send it over, barely hearing it in my own head

and she's answering but...but...

oh, i know that sad smile.

her eyelashes reveal the truth as they hug each other tight like the ticklish footprints of ladybugs

i might be seven but i feel the depth of the stab-wounds

and she's been bleeding since...me.

i go to change the subject...kind of, but she's sent me something, and i know she's brave for stepping into it.

an archaeologist.

she's incredible at hiding her pride and sorrow and...

no, she's absolutely terrible at it, it's all over her face.

but i let her show it because her bleeding fingers expose every part of the strain

she's healing.

so i close the distance between us

and claim her as me,

let her remember my funny words

and the smiles that arrive every time i dream myself somewhere else

i help her come with me

re-find the colour that the world sucked out of her

and think about every bustling feeling i've had

she breathes it into her heart

and sighs as i watch her recharge and hack away the titanium wrapped around her

she's quiet, goes to speak but i beat her to it

grazie.

...perchè?

why? of course she couldn't see it. but at least we both feel lighter knowing we can find each other.

i send my ending over and watch as she hesitates

she doesn't want to go back; she's terrified.

and yet, her chin shifts, her eyes harden and she's back into the routine

a few more colourful rocks budding from under her skin.

...