Funny, I don't mind myself in photos lately. Not that I think I've become photogenic. The sag, the uneven skin, the lack of prettiness, are grown etched with my life, which I won't deny, don't regret. I love my life, and my face is becoming the creation of my experiences. Even my mess of hair is expressive of my journey.
I look at my cousin, twenty years older, loving, lively, joyous in all the troubles of her life, and I know I look much like her. Nothing specific, but I will grow to resemble her more as I add on years. She showed me photos taken in Mexico, a recent trip. She is by the pool, in a bathing suit, unselfconscious in her body in a bathing suit. I love this about her. As I love her. As I love her husband, E, as I have since I first met him over twenty years ago. Then didn't see either of them for the pair of intervening decades, until contacting them upon the move out to Boston.
Unexpected cousins, familiar, quite literally. Kin in unexpected corners, lost though not forgotten. Peat for mushrooming affection. Nerves connecting, regenerating.