dear sister

I wouldn't strip the shirt off my back for many people, but for my sister I would. I'd find empty scraps off the ground and sew them together so she could stay warm. I know I don't know how to sew, but I learned how to for her. And she might forget to take the trash out once in a while, and I might scream at her through her bedroom door for stealing my clothes. But if she needed shoes, I'd walk barefoot, feet sinking into gravel, blood coming from my soul, while still asking if she wants me to carry her. And if she was hungry, I'd peel her my last orange. She probably doesn't know it, but if I saw her breaking down, I'd use the sewing skills I just picked up and stitched her back together, pulling thread for my own skin, if that was what it would take. My sister is not just my blood, but she is half of me. I think about the day we'll both leave this place, our childhood rooms with our chipped paint and faded posters, and leftover laughter we've left behind. Maybe we'll drift and find ourselves oceans apart, and lives that don't always leave room for each other. And yet she'll always be a part of me, a half I'd never trade, the mirror that reflects who I once was, and who I want to be. We might fight over silly things, but for her I'd give anything. I'd give her all the light left inside of me, even if that left me empty, even if it made me nothing. As long as it meant she'd never feel alone at night, because I loved her before she had a name, and I think she's still afraid of the dark.