I’d like to tell you about my sister today and our history.

Growing up, we were close. Closer than two coins glued together and if people wanted to tear us apart, they would lose an arm or two trying. But that all changed when my brother-in-law proposed. Ever since their marriage, I’ve felt uneasy — unsettled — like something was out of place and my world was tilted at an axis, constantly teetering at a point. I felt it the most at the beginning of their marriage. I didn’t know how to act in front of them. Were they family? Yes. Was there anything significantly wrong with them? No. But how was I suppose to act?

This stranger right here — sitting in front of me — a face I’ve seen so many times for so many years that I know each and every surface and crevice about. Gone. It was an identical visage I’d been seeing, yet so strange and cold. I didn't know what this face held. Then, this feeling would eat me up. I’d seen videos splattered across the internet of sisters elated to welcome a new family member and finding comfort that their sibling/sister would finally have someone by their side for life. But I couldn’t fathom it. I couldn’t understand that feeling and I didn’t know how to attain it. No matter how hard I tried.

And this went on for months. It was a constant tug-of-war in my mind and heart. One minute I’d be warm and jocular like I’d been with her my entire life and the minute I blinked, it all went away. Curt and distant. Back to a face I’ve only just met. And, mind you, I’ve never told anyone about this. Not my mother, not my grandmother, obviously not my sister, and not even my brother. Maybe because somewhere deep down I knew it was wrong. So I shut my mouth and poured my words secretly on page and never let it float in the air.

Until one afternoon, somebody asked me, how is your relationship with your sister.

And I found myself saying, we’re not really close anymore. I barely talk to her. I forced out a laughter.

…. Those words hung in the air and it’s like they’ve been following me since, haunting me. But that is the truth — I barely know what’s going on in her life and I think that makes me sad. And I know that sometimes I get this maddening feeling bubbling inside of me pushing its way to the top, filling my every lung and thought, and I know I have no reason to feel infuriated but I also know that feeling anger is easier than allowing sadness to appear.

So when I have moments like these — when my body allows this sadness to appear and stay, I’ll try to write because at least when I’m writing in sadness, I won’t hurt her through my hidden words, and when I’m writing through a conduit of pure sadness, it is only the truth that appears.

As I am writing, I listen to your voices waft through the air from your room next door, and I can’t help but remember that once, not too long ago, it was my voice and yours drifting — only the two of us. Now, there isn’t a third voice. Just two. But one of them isn't mine any longer.

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