She cleared her throat, and the corners of her mouth turned up. Everyone else seemed to nod without listening, but not her. She listened, and it made her really happy. She didn’t look past me to the other dozens of things she needed to do with her day, or tune out my stupid stories. When she looked at me, she really saw me. She was looking down at me, her lids two slits, just enough to let me know she knew I was there. My eyes trailed from her brittle, yellowing nails, up her thin arm, to her bony shoulder, finally settling on her eyes. Her hand flopped off the bed, and her finger twitched. The most beautiful woman I would ever see. Her skin didn’t have the peachy glow I was used to, and her eyes weren’t as bright, but she was still beautiful. EVEN WITH THE SWEAT ON HER FOREHEAD AND THE skip in her breath, she didn’t look sick.
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