My sister and I are like night and day, sweet and sour, black and white. She is my complete opposite in most ways, if not every way. She has thick, tight ringlet curls that brush her shoulders and are the deepest shade of chocolate brown; I have thin, long caramel waves that trail down my back. She's not quite 5'2" and I'm almost five inches taller than her. She's a math whiz and I'm a writer. She's friendly, I'm not.
The one thing we've had in common for over the past two decades: our room. Amanda and I shared a room for my entire life, and she only had four years in her own before I was born and took away half her space. Our room was, at times, the only thing we ever had in common - sometimes not, sometimes there were more similarities, but rarely.
In December, she left. My room felt twice as big, I had twice as much space to fill, and an empty bed below mine - our bunk beds were no longer necessary. My room didn't feel like my room; it couldn't, because it's our room. But, there I was, with an entire room to myself for the first time in my entire life and what did I do? I cried. I left her space unfilled for weeks. I peered down at her bed below mine and felt the emptiness in my heart. Bunk beds are for two people, Sissy, not one.
I was expecting the day I got my own room to be amazing. I could finally have my own space, I didn't have to keep it clean (or relatively clean) for her, I didn't have to rush myself getting dressed in case you knocked on the door right as I was putting my underwear on. I should have been happy.
Your murmured words throughout the night will not be forgotten, as you rattled on full sentences before sleep swallowed the rest; waking you up with whisper-yelling when I heard a weird noise or the power went out to ask you what is was; having to quietly tiptoe into our room after being out, changing as quietly as possible as to not wake you up from dreamland.
Sleeping alone is terrifying. Our house makes weird noises. The shadows from the street lights shine in at weird angles. And don't even get me started about the monsters in the closet.
I miss having you around. The house seems so much bigger with one less person in it. My spot at the dinner table has been switched to yours because we don't move the table out anymore. It's been a very weird time trying to figure out how things will be done now that you're no longer here (I actually have to help with the groceries now - ugh).
I grew up comparing myself to you and, still to this day, I have never stopped. I know I'm not always the nicest person or the most caring, but I appreciate you and the person that you are.You'll always be my sister - my Sissy. You have a permanent spot in my heart and in my memories, always. I want nothing more than for you to be happy in this crazy, beautiful life.
