Perhaps He Was Afraid As

We Hug, But There Are No Tears. For Every Awful Thing That's Been Said And Done, She Is My Sister. Parents Die, Daughters Grow Up And Marry Out, But Sisters Are For Life. She Is The Only Person Left In The World Who Shares My Memories Of Our Childhood, Our Parents, Our Shanghai, Our Struggles, Our Sorrows, And, Yes, Even Our Moments Of Happiness And Triumph. My Sister Is The One Person Who Truly Knows Me, As I Know Her. The Last Thing May Says To Me Is 'when Our Hair Is White, We'll Still Have Our Sister Love.

What Stays With Me Most Is A General Sense Of Loss, Unease, And Longing For The Past That Cannot Be Relieved.

All These Types Of Love Come Out Of Duty, Respect, And Gratitude. Most Of Them, As The Women In My County Know, Are Sources Of Sadness, Rupture, And Brutality.

A Brave Heart? It Feels Like A Swollen And Aching Thing In My Chest.

Perhaps He Was Afraid As I Was That We'd Be Caught. Or Perhaps He Was Breathing Me In Just As I Was Letting Him Come Into My Lungs, My Eyes, My Heart.