I’m not, but I look taller. And I’m not blonde
anymore because I never
actually
was.
When I see her in pictures
I do not recognize her even though
I know her so deeply. I know her
in patterns and seasons
and context that she does not yet.
I love her for every reason I know of.
I do not miss her.
I see her face, the one she could never look at
except with laser-focused vision, at every flaw.
I see her face in full now, for the first time.
And I am prettier now. But she so wanted to be.
I love her so.
Once she loved God and Men of God,
captivated by the light they shone
into the shadowy webs she grew up in,
until finally, with sun’s brilliance,
and the gentlest touch,
they proved to be only
dewy drops, and melted away.
It was another amount of time
traveling previously woven threads of
time and experience, forward and
back, and around and again,
before she discovered every drop
of beautiful light she’d glimpsed,
delighted in, and sought, came from
reflection.
It was her all along.
And that is when she became me.
I’m not, but I look taller.
melissa suarez
melissa 