I watched the small child dance.
So graceful. So elegant in her own childish way.
She fell.
So clumsy.
But instead of crying, she got back up. The small child was only three. Old enough to think that the most excruciating pain is falling on your knees.
"Nina," She said instead, "Dance with me!"
I sighed and got up, dusting invisible dust off my thighs.
"I'm no master like you, Elora."
"I'll teach you," She giggled, and it warmed my heart. Sweet child. I love her as if she were my own sister, but she isn't. Her real sister is currently with my older sister gossiping about Eileen Hoover and Darson Heck's breakup.
"Thank you Elora," and I gave her my hands to hold. We waltzed around the small living room together. A girl who just started her academic career, and one about to graduate middle school.
And not just a little girl. A kind, whole-hearted one. A girl as beautiful as the flowers we planted outside her house last week.
Oh how I wish I could dance with her forever.