this is one of my favorite photos of my baby sister and me. i don’t remember much about the actual dance we attended, but i remember the entire getting ready process. this is the most girly i had felt as a child. i hated pink, but we chose pink dresses because it was her favorite color. this was one of the last times my mother dressed us alike because this was the first time we all really felt the age gap between us. looking back on moments like this i realize how differently we see our childhood. i loved having us dress alike because it was a subtle way of saying we were sisters. but in my sister’s eyes, this was just the first way my parents compared us and made her feel like she was not good enough. i wonder what she thinks of this moment.

amber

a poetic prose

my little sister shot a hole into my heart; despite her sturdy body, it propelled her entire being so far away from me, i could hardly see her. her face seemed so serene as it happened, like she had dreamed up this moment for years. i wonder, more often than i’d rather admit, if she holds any regrets. i have waited, longer than i rather admit, for her to announce that she too has a hole in her heart. that just like me she tries to fill the hole up with memories of us. that just like me she cleans the wounds with her tears. but these words have yet to arrive, and probably they never will. so my forgiveness stays trapped inside the intact pieces of my heart. the hole never fills no matter how much i stuff inside of it. the wound stays nasty despite sanitizing it with my tears.

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Until Next Time Winter

afterthought

zaria rashay