Sisters speak a secret language. A universal fact, shaped by each set’s familial dialect. It’s automatic and telepathic, smart and razor sharp. A certain glance and that’s it, forget it.
A nod, a raised eyebrow, a scowl. Don’t even ask, they just know, way before you, brothers. A shrug, a wince, rolled shoulders. That’s right, move aside! A whispered reference to someone you vaguely remember, a hushed utterance about a long-ago gathering at some distance place. Crystal clear to them. Entire conversations pass through their eyes, silent words no one else recognizes. i.e., femfee and fifee, that being any piece of fuzz and their beloved other, respectively. There are quiet half sentences and easy smiles, an arm around a shoulder, a hand on a hip. Next thing they’re humming a favorite tune, spontaneously swaying, feeling the groove. Eyes so alive, sending clear signals, catching their signs, no vowels, no consonants. Just sensing and understanding their sisterhood. No surprise, each knows 'she's loved me since the first time she looked at me.'
Lovely. And it's true - I loved her the moment they brought her home and put her into my lap!
Right on!