dear kathy

I have an older sister. I’ve written about her before if you need to catch up… which you should, I reckon.

Dear Kathy,

I know that a piece of me is inside of you. It’s been there since forever. I even suspect it was there before either of us were born. I don’t know what it’s called, and I don’t know what it looked like at the very beginning, but I know what it’s made up of now.

It’s got deep laugh grooves, from when we played and laughed on the monkey bars down at the bottom of the garden. It has marks on the side from when I rode on your back and you reared your head up and knocked out my front teeth. It’s got little speckles from all the times we sat at the big round dinner table, and you could still manage to feed yourself. It’s got sprinkles and glitter from the countless nights we lay in my bed together and I read you stories, and we sang nursery rhymes, and you knew all the words. And it has little love hearts, that glow, from when you used to say my name and my heart would get all warm and fuzzy.

It’s yellow, like the sun shining on us outside on the picnic blankets dad used to lay out for us in the garden. And green, but like a dappled green, from the canopy of leaves above our heads. And part of it is orange and brown, like those crazy matching pinafore outfits dad bought for us. It sings all the time, songs like ‘twinkle twinkle little star’ and it sounds like how I remember your lilting voice before you stopped singing.

It’s also wet, from tears, of so many times I cried wondering if you’d make it through the night. And it’s cold, from missing out on the hugs that rightfully belong to sisters. And it’s lonely, for all the chats and fights that we never got to have.

There’s a hole inside of me where that piece of me should be. I’m used to the hole now. The mark. The gap. It’s familiar, and sturdy, and it needs to be there, but sometimes it still itches and aches. You should know this, because you need to know that I miss you. And US. And when it itches and aches, there’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing to scratch, because I don’t have that piece of me.

The crazy thing is, a piece of you is inside of me also.

So when I’m missing the me that is in you, I hold on tightly to the you that is in me…

I carry your heart with me. I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go you go, my dear. And whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling.

I fear no fate. I want no world, for beautiful – you are my world, my true, and it’s you. You are whatever a moon has always meant, and whatever a sun will always sing is you.

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows. Here is the root of the root, and the bud of the bud, and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope, or the mind can hide.

And this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart. I carry your heart.

I carry it in my heart. [E E Cummings]

I can’t wait for the day when we get to have big hugs, and hold hands, and join our pieces together at last.

I adore you.



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