Ma chère Baby sister,
It’s the fourth year I’m spending another Christmas and birthday without you. And for that, I am sad.
I am always amazed at how different we are or have become. And yet, you still understand me more than anyone in the world, because you peel off the layers of bullshit I wrap myself around. You see me, as lame as crazy as silly as I really am. To you, I will always be the girl you sang Backstreet Boys with at the top of your lungs and danced to old Mariah Carey songs in some barewalled room. Simple. Silly. So me.
Gone are days when we would secretly down a bottle of wine hiding underneath blankets. I’m amazed I still could cut the cake properly…
Gone are days watching idiotic shows and keeping the lines busy for hours on end.
Gone are tears that came when we recoiled against closed doors.
I wonder if I could still be able to play that Hungarian violin solo you gave me then. Time has passed and the fingers have stiffened.
You’ve been there, and you’ve heard it all; the insecurities, the petty meanderings of the mind and the truly nonsensical monologues. And even if I can still get your birthdate confused (January uh...5th? 9th?11th?..), you somehow still love me, think of me and praise me like a queen. And for that, I thank you.
...growing a wise white beard. I wish.