I suppose it’s as unique as a fingerprint, as someone’s handwriting. When I pulled the two identical lipsticks from the gift bag, I knew which one was mine, and which one had been my mother’s. The way she applied gave the rouge its own unique form. I know it as clearly as the touch of her hand, be it on paper, or around my shoulders. The shape of her love was hers and hers alone. To know it, to identify it, this is the never ending gift. 

It’s all in the details. But we have to be curious enough to see them. To really see people. We need to ask the questions. Listen to the answers, with hearts and minds. To make note. To not be afraid of the differences, but accept them as the gifts that they are. When someone dares to show you, they are saying they trust you, trust you to be gentle with the offering. When did we become so afraid? There is no this and the other. There is only us. How beautiful it can be.