Masha

My second oldest sister has brown hair that used to be black and straight before deciding that life on her head was better suited to curls and lightening up.

Today she met up with a friend downtown and I did the same. Phone in hand, I abandoned the warmth of a Chinese restaurant, the wealth of water chestnuts and vegetable fried rice nestled cheerfully in my tummy robbing me of the usual buoyancy. New text message from sister. Racing across her words my eyes halfway relayed to my brain their message before flailing arms and loose brown curls in my peripheral vision interrupted the dispatch. She had written that she just parted with her friend and was looking for me and didn't know where to find me.

It figures we would run separate circles in the city and subliminally find our way to each other at the timely moment. 

We are tethered by soul.