always the quiet one. s always spoke before, over, after, for me. at my grandparents she would consume everyone, debating and arguing, telling stories and lies, all as loudly as she could. i would sit and listen like the rest. i remember though, trying to ask questions or share a thought every so often only to be cut off. i would be on my way to discouragement and i'd look to opa. beautiful opa. and he'd look right back at me. not through me to her, not a glance to make me feel included. he'd look at me. he taught me to wink on these occasions. one eye, then the other. it took me a while but i got there. it was, it is, our thing. he makes me feel special. i love him.
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