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And she was returned to you.
It was the same girl; the same world of possibilities to become the very same woman. It was her shoulders, honey-glued and narrow and sharp, the bones sticking up like a beautiful skeleton; the same look as an underfed butterfly your wife had. It defied death and logic, but her thin and pursed lips were returned to you.
The eyes --they were the same eyes, now stricked with shyness and a pain you couldn´t understand at first, and now you know it mirrored your own pain, like shards of broken glass, alike but never to fit together, the cutting edges of your solitude.
And it was such a miracle (the very same eyes, black and endless and always on the run, on the run from you, avoiding you, that was different, that was not her) but you dared not touch it, afraid it would break into a million pieces; you dared not touch her, and how she shivered everytime you would brush each other in the hallways, in the dark, in a muted and emptied house--
-she was the same girl, but for this: the way she had of not entering a room when you were inside, or maybe it was just the way you used to leave the room everytime she entered.
You refused to say her name for such a long time, that short and precise sound, Rukia, tasting like coriander at the tip of your tongue.
For so long you refused to look at her, afraid you would find differences, a slight change that could ruin it all.
But now...
"From now on, things have to change," she says and her voice is strange and familiar like wildflowers.
(but you never really listened to her, all those years, because her tone was lower, more anxious, more awake and alive than hers, and you didn´t want to hear)
Now you look at her (small, clean-cut features, the hair always getting in her eyes but never bothering her) and you remember all those times you wondered-
-you wondered if she had been returned completely, a perfect miracle: which incongruences you would find if you put your arm unexpectedly around her waist (Hisana used to laugh, her belly vibrating and you could feel it with your hands, and your whole body felt so alive it was painful). You wondered, you wondered- and doubts and curiosity were like a knife cutting your eyelids each night, keeping you awake, and you had never been so thin since Hisana´s death.
And you kept thinking about how she would taste if you kissed her -safe and warm, like earth, like Hisana, or maybe like something running away, rushed and fruity like she smelt (the house soon filled with that scent, and you had nowhere to hide), like she felt. She. Still you refused to call her Rukia -it sounded like your sister´s name should sound, like your name did, harsh and pitiless.
Sister. That was a word as strange as Rukia to you; and you felt sudden warmth and guilt when you uttered it -it was like losing Hisana again.
That seems so unimportant now, so silly, the way you worried about how she would taste, or smell or feel (was her skin smooth and cold as well? did she smell of wood and star-filled nights when she woke up? would she quiver under your hands, too, your hands that seemed like safe continents to her small body?).
Today you stretch your hand and reach for her. You press your fingers against her chin and she turns and smiles at you.
Her smile is nothing like Hisana´s.
Hisana is gone.
"You are back, Rukia."
And yes, it tastes strange. Rukia tastes strange. But it doesn´t break your heart as you thought it would.
She is back.
Your sister is back.
Rukia is back.