She’s the same, but different. Her hair is shorter now, but her eyes still get really wide when she talks animatedly about a weird client. Her clothes are less revealing, but her laugh is still infectious. She hates to talk about the past, but two vodka tonics always bring her right back there.

She may not be entirely happy, but she’s happier. She talks about her future with him and makes it sound long term. No longer a Mr. Right Now, but a Mr. (Possibly) Right.


She’s the same, but different. Her big brown eyes are a door to our childhood, but her diamond ring in the door to her future. She’s still shy, uncomfortable with all the attention, but she is poised and adult. She’s a lawyer, but she laughed when I reminded her about playing with Barbies in the basement.

She is family, but soon will become part of another.


She’s the same, but different. She still sings at the top of her lungs, but the music isn’t as angry. Her eyes are lined with dark liner, but her skin in glowy and warm. She still laughs at my jokes, but now there’s genuine joy behind it.

When I camped out in her room, she gave me her pillow so I wouldn’t have to use the lumpy one.


She’s the same, but different. She wants her mom when she’s so sick it makes her cry, but wishes her fiancé was curled up beside her. She twirls in her gown like she did when she played dress-up, but agonizes over the color of a bridesmaid dress. She still loads up her plate with mostly stuffing and sweet potatoes, but now wonders how long it will take to work that off.

She’s a woman, but likes to be reminded of when she was a girl.