From birth our noses looking scary similar, often getting asked if we were twins. It was short and perfectly poised in position, like a ballet dancer getting their piqué right. It crinkled when she smelled the penguins at the zoo, it flared when she rolled on the fuzzy floor from laughter, and it was covered with a tissue, a whole box of tissues,  when lost her prized possession, Woofie.

Now her nose looks a little different, just a little different. It is short and stout. It frames her face, shows her bold battle scars, like a surfers scar from a shark attack. From the memories of playing with the sprinkler in summer, to the dark, coldness of winter. Her nose red like a sundried tomato. It runs when she has the sniffles and “runs” when she is working out. Her nose is the Olympic gold metal, won by the genetic lottery.