“My baby’s turning 21,” she said.
My sister.
Beautiful. Strong. Fragile. Intelligent. Human.
Twenty One. The magical marker?
Marking our entrance into Adult-hood.
(What if we’ve been there for years?)
Twenty-One. The great year?
Allowing us to do all I’ve never wanted to do.
(“Never” is a powerful word.)
Twenty-One. The turning point?
The point where I can make it all good?
(If only I knew where to begin.)
Twenty-One. The end.
The end of a wonderfully horrid chapter.
(Once it’s so bad, it can only get better.)

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