The Forgotten Years
They’ve already forgotten how many times I kissed their foreheads, how many times I held them close through fear, through sadness, through my own need to feel their warmth and love. They stare with eyes of envy as I hold their baby brother, as I caress his soft curls and press my lips against his forehead. They don’t remember what I remember. They don’t know how quickly he will grow, how quickly he will stop holding my hand, finding comfort in my arms, needing me to fall asleep. I would hold them the same way if I could. Sometimes I try, but it isn’t the same— their bodies are too long, too heavy, too restless. They are in-between—no longer little, but not yet grown—fighting against old comforts and new desires. Their baby brother reminds them of who they used to be. Maybe, what looks like envy is actually grief—a longing to relive moments lost in time. Maybe, they haven't truly forgotten.
I love this ending, Ashley.
So well put Ashley!