I remember what it felt like to sit across from her. 

Awe.

Like mouth-gaping, lord-inspiring, human-humbling

Awe.

What a lovely noise we make when we say 

Awe.

Just like the little gasp I made in the back of my throat when she told me, eyes blinking rapidly, head moving sideways, hand smoothing hair backwards

That it had been – years – since she had spoken to her father

me wondering what it means to live to be so old, to live to be so cold.

Awh.

She sat up so straight on that bed, ramrod despite the exaggerated dip in the lumpy mattress. Cross-legged, hands folded into one another, resting on her ankles, her head drawn to the sky by an invisible string, her hair swinging on two parallel axes, as two parallel panes. Strength. I had never been so close to her kind of strength.

Was it something one was born with or found?

If I tried hard enough, could one day she become I?