She laughs with
me, she cries with me.
She, forever little, forever young.
She who seems so naive.
She, who knows more about life than anyone thinks.
She used to be strong, stone faced, predictable.
She has changed as the years roll by.
She, super shopper, calculator queen;
She of the Pony Palace, has been softened by life’s surprises.
She is a woman now, no longer a little girl.
Me, I was born
mature.
Me, the social one, the one that cries at movies.
Me, the internet addict, lover of all things happy and romantic.
Me, I’ve been the one she has turned too all her life.
Me, I let it out, my anger, tears, happiness, sadness.
Me, first to start school, first to kiss, first to drive.
Me, with all the answers, or at least the ones that matter.
Me, Sarah’s training wheels, her guide through the stormy sea of adolescence.
There is we, too.
We spend hours talking, we laugh.
We, amateur fashionistas,
subscribers to the latest fashion magazines.
We share a love of deep fried food, music and boys.
We bonded over a hot cup of boyband.
We know what we can count on: bad seats to concerts, guys being a complete mystery,
and each other.
We, the keepers of secrets and the joined blood of Bill and Judy.
We are made of the same material.