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snap. you and your white crepe dress, like the fragile wings of a dust-coated butterfly. our little sister swirled and twirled like a tornado around you. we watched her. you couldn’t get your hairstyle right because everything was “too,” but i thought those sweet swirls of gold were beautiful, prettier than mine. our mother said to dress up, so you tried to suck in your waist, tested a million shades of my lipstick, and smiled wide when they said cheese. they said you should post it on instagram and you did, but you frowned at each “like” until i told you, just delete it. later, we sat on top of the picnic table and picked at loose bits of wood, me in your old sundress and you in that ridiculous papery thing with your glass-sharp nails threaded through your hair. i was quiet because i thought if i didn’t say anything, maybe you’d forget. we both waited for something until you told me to turn away, but even without looking i could tell you’d taken off your veil and you were holding it in your arms at a distance, like you could pretend it was never even yours at all.

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