I wonder about her eyebrows.

I wonder if they looked like mine, disheveled and uneven. I wonder if one of them would have grown upward at the edge, imperfectly perfect and matching to me.

Or if they would have been thick like her father’s, dark as night and fighting so hard to meet in the middle of her face.

I don’t think about what her eyes looked like often, or the shape of her mouth. But I wonder about her eyebrows.

I look at her sisters’ faces and I wonder about her eyebrows. Were they similar to theirs? …

Ariana Sheehan

I like to write for fun, but mostly for sanity. By day I'm a Senior Digital Strategist. By night I'm a non-laundry-folding mom.

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