My sister was a wildflower. She grew through the weeds into a pastel purples and blues and pinks. She was the happy child who was shielded from everything.
The favorite.
The loved.
The wanted.
She would laugh and laugh. And cry when we kissed her goodnight. She loves the sun- heck her name means sun- and playing hard.
But that was a year ago.
Now she's going through some phase that I can't comprehend.
"I love you"...god when was the last time she said that to anybody? I see through her big blue eyes and her dry comments. I see her world become a cynical cell that nobody has the key to. I see her door being locked and her mouth twisted until I can't see her anymore. All that's left is this thin outline- a faint memory- of the vibrant little sister.
And I am reminded that flowers also die.