The love of two sisters

Is meant to be protective 

And helpful 

And supportive 

And everything they both ever wanted. 

The dream that every only girl child wants. 

An older sister to gossip with, 

To paint her nails with, 

To watch rom-coms with, 

To live as a teenager with. 

But when she’s small, 

To play with. 

To play dolls together, 

To play family together, 

Where they’d bicker over who’d be the mother

And who’d be the dog, 

Only to make up within the next few minutes. 

And maybe, just maybe, 

They’d play a video game or two. 

Not to have no memory of playing with her sister. 

Not because she’s gone, 

But because she was never there. 

To only remember their “video game time” 

As sitting next to her quietly 

After the sister had shushed he three times

And watch her play the game you love wrong. 

Not to have the only memory of playing with dolls 

Or playing as a family 

Or playing video games together 

Happen with her only best friend 

That she couldn’t even pretend was her sister. 

Because the best friend had her own sister. 

She had an older sister that she was close friends with. 

They really did gossip together, 

Paint their nails together, 

Watch rom-coms together, 

And live their teenage years together. 

They were the perfect pair. 

And the girl would envy her best friend. 

Because why could she and her sister be like that? 

They were the same ages, 

The same number of years apart. 

So why wasn’t it the same? 

Why wasn’t it the same? 

The girl thought there was a hatred between them. 

As the older sister became a teenager, 

Leaving her sister behind in terms of age, 

She also left her behind in terms of time. 

In terms of friendship. 

In terms of love. 

They barely spoke for three years. 

Three years. 

The girl nearly grew up alone. 

She doesn’t remember much from those years. 

They were hard. 

And suddenly, 

When the girl turned 14, 

Her sister came back. 

They started talking. 

The sister started inviting the girl to her room, 

Just to talk. 

The girl took the opportunities with caution. 

She didn’t want to get hurt. 

She heard the screaming matches the sister had with her mother. 

She learned to be scared of her sister. 

But the sister acted like nothing happened between them. 

Like they were best friends their whole lives. 

She liked to say, 

“I’m so glad you’re older now.”

“You’re so much more mature.” 

“You’re not as annoying anymore.”

“I’m so glad that you’re old enough

For us to be friends again.” 

The words hurt. 

The sister blamed their space on the girl. 

Not on her own arrogance, 

On her own anger issues, 

On her own eye rolls whenever the girl would speak. 

She blamed it

On the girl. 

The girl was nine when she was labeled 

“Too immature” 

By her sister. 

She had to grow up too fast

Because all she wanted 

Was the love of two sisters.