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The Boy's Sister

I met a boy once, in Thailand, and we seemed cosmically destined to be in each others lives. He’s no longer in my life. I choose different. I went left - left him standing on a boarder, and choose to create this most amazing life that I currently have. I tell you this because that cosmic destiny may confuse you sometimes. Sometimes, you may not fully understand a person’s importance in your life, their meaning, until years or decades later.

This boy, he has a sister.

This. This is about her.

I met her young. She was filled with life - beautiful and ready to explore the world. She said she needed a nudge, advice, and reassurance that this path she wanted to take was a good one. She didn’t need any of that though. She needed to enter my life (and me into hers) and this was the universe setting up this beautiful sisterhood.

We had dinner, once. I marvelled at her courage, her intelligent questions, her excitement to enter a world that I was just exiting. She asked questions about relationships, the strain this might put on them. I never once sheltered her from the reality of the world she wanted to embark on. People, they come and go, and some will board your flight with you. He boarded the flight with her. I smiled because, I too, had loves follow me. These men, they see a woman who is confident, sure, and alive and they want to attach to that. He attached to that. It’s a beautiful thing.

My world shifted and I grew into my new roles, she a few years behind. I received texts from her continually, praising me for my position in life and how well I was managing my tiny humans. I don’t know if she knows how much those texts over the years meant to me - mean to me. Her support, I could never define. Then, it was my turn. My turn to praise her for her skills at motherhood. To send texts about what am amazing mother she is, to send encouragement and support during hard nights. I like to believe that I was there for her during some really hard times.

Now, I sit, miles away from the hug I’d like to give her. She is there and I am here. I want to run to her, wrap my sisterly arms around her and care for her - force her to eat and sleep. Her world is being ripped open and I sit, sideline to it, and offer my support. She’s strong though. We all are when we have no choice. Strength is our beauty, as women. Others are attracted to it, as if pulled in by some magnetic force. I have seen it. I have felt it. She’s got it - pure strength - and it will bode well for her.

So, here I sit, miles away and write. Write about that old love and how I realize he was just the vehicle for this bond I share with her, his sister. I maintain, we were put in each other’s life for a very specific reason. I am and always will be a support for her, even if it’s from miles away.

That Kind of Girl

Write, Burn, Repeat