always ellie

the first thing I notice about her

is her hair.

Long, lustrous black

like I always pretended I had,

it flows like liquid silk over her shoulders.

The second thing I notice

is her smile.

Gentle, approachable

a worn book beckoning to be read

I won't hurt you

I will love you

and yet, a sparkle of fun

of mischief

of a child not forgot.

The third thing I notice

are her hands.

Long, elegant, delicate fingers

strong palms,

she gestures softly as she speaks

as if painting the air.

She has not touched me,

but I imagine her hands are warm

like a summer evening

and smooth as sanded stone.

She says her name is Ellie,

always Ellie,

and as I get to know her,

I realize her hair

is beautiful from all the wisdom that emanates 

from her head,

and I love the way it sways like beach caressing waves

when she laughs.

I realize her smile

is like a beacon in the dark,

a light house guiding ships away from sharp rocks,

a spot to grasp while the world spins.

I realize her hands

are the hands of a writer,

of a friend,

of a mother.

They are as strong and warm as I believed

as she squeezes my fingers,

rubs my back

reminding me I am capable of every thing

and that this too shall pass.

To her, I was sometimes girl, sometimes woman,

sometimes lovely, and sometimes hurtful,

sometimes sweet, and sometimes sour,

sometimes beautiful, and sometimes a disaster,

but always loved, always cared for, always absorbing all the words

she bestowed and shared with me.

To me, she is always wonderful, 

always kind, always gentle, always wise,

always caring, always giving, always being

everything.

Always Ellie.

The End

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