Beautiful hearts
"Sometimes I feel the room surround me and enfold me with infinite possibilities."
She looked at her sister, from her place by the tomatoes. They were almost ready to eat. Any day now.
Her sister was silent. She had grown in so many ways, but there were some things she wished had stayed the same. There were things she wished could always stay the same.
"You have a beautiful mind." She said at last, twining a tomato vine around a metal pole.
"And you," replied her sister, smiling from her place in the kitchen, "You have a beautiful garden."
She blushed. "That is all."
"Oh no. Not at all. I think the condition of a garden says something about the one who takes care of it. There is something personal in your garden. Not like home. It's not like that here at all. I like it here."
She was silent. The house was filled with wind and silence and the smell of crushed herbs. It was full with the weight of years between them.
"I hate it there." Her sister said. "Can I come live with you?"
She set down the pot she held and shook her head. The sound of pottery hitting the tile of her balcony ledge rang through the room. Her voice could hardly be heard above the resounding noise. "It would break his heart."
"Maybe."
She turned and watched her sister over her shoulder. Sometimes she felt that they had finally reached a sort of agreement – that they finally understood each other. And sometimes she felt their minds were miles apart.
"And maybe hearts aren't as fragile as you think. Your own heart, sister, is not as fragile as you once thought, is it?"
She winced. She had always known the danger in words, how sharp they could be. But how could they be so kind, yet harsh at the same time? How could such beautiful words, sister, be so painful?
"I'll never understand." She murmured.
Her sister misunderstood, "No sister. You understand too well. You see much too clearly."