Suddenly she figured that she was free.
Nothing moved her too much anymore, no awkward
leaking out at the drop of a shakily-held ice creamcone.
Not those old war movies Baba got her to watch.
Not that bhitu-eyed kitten faintly mewing for it's mother.
Not the sight of the kid sister pouring over her school-signed uniform.
Not the radio.
Not that Gillette-Women's-gone-wrong souvenir.
Nothing moved her too much anymore.
Nothing but the steady, unafraid brush of lips across her forehead
that was.
Wasn't.
that was.
Wasn't.
Suddenly she figured that she was free.
She had made an art out of figuring things
wrong.
wrong.
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