6 years*

Without taking your eyes off mine, you ask me softly why you’re the last of the brothers to “do things”.

I hug you tightly and I take time to come up with the right words to explain that although you are the youngest daughter, you are always one step ahead of your brothers.

Every day you insist on reminding me that it is possible to fly, and that to be happy a thousand kisses when you wake up and another million at bedtime are enough.

I get moved… your hand still fits into mine.

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