I remember nights when I was so petrified, you'd sit outside the bathroom door for me as I'd shower. I remember nights you'd climb in my bed to soothe my sobs and stop my tears from wetting my pillow. I remember when you'd hold my hand and teach me to be confident with my shoulders back. I remember the nights of endless secret telling and shushes to keep quiet. I remember it all. Yet those sweet pea memories are slowly drifting away back to sea with the memory of who you used to be. I can't seem to get you to look me in the eyes anymore, I can't get you to hold me when I have an episode. I can't get you to spend time with me, your baby sister, and maybe its a big sister thing; growing tired of being your little sister's keeper. I dont know. But I know there are no more nights of secret telling, there are no more nights of being held while I cry. There are no more nights of you sitting outside the bathroom door for me. There are none.

She sat there on her mountain top pleased with where she found herself. Yet each day she would chisel where she sat, "a chisel each day" she thought "won't do any harm." So each day she would awl where she rested maybe to see if one day she'd have nothing left to chisel, maybe the mountain would swallow her whole for destroying its wonderous peak, maybe nothing would happen- maybe nothing at all. So she persisted til one day there was nothing left to chisel, and she went tumbling down.