Dear Sister, I stumbled upon an old photo of us today. It was from the garden where we played every single evening of every summer holiday. I found myself transported back to the memory. And then another, & a third. Until finally, all I could think about was the times we’d wear rings & pretend to be Captain Planet or build obstacles from pillows & have our own Legends of the Hidden Temple. I’d watch you sit with a book for hours & wonder what you found so fascinating. I’m not mean I’m just too old to pretend I like you shirt, get it now!
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So, I’d pick up one & lie next to you too, even if I could only read three letter words. But soon alphabets became words & words became stories. And I was also a student at Mallory Towers, solving mysteries with the Famous Five & going on adventures with Archie and the gang (after you finally thought I was old enough to know about dating and lifted the ban on those comics, of course.) You introduced me to the worlds between the covers of a book & for that I will always remain grateful. We’d never been much for sharing secrets.
And yet, we’d always know. Somewhere during our hushed middle-of-the-night conversations, we’d read between the lines & pick up on the unsaid & secrets were shared without the words ever being said. I’d never admitted it then (I know you know it anyway!) but I hero-worshipped you. Everything you did was cool. Because I’m not mean I’m just too old to pretend I like you shirt. I’d steal your Mickey Mouse spoon & insist on wearing the same clothes. I thought I did it simply to annoy you, but deep down, I knew that it was because I wanted to be like you. I realise now how silly I was. For there can never be another you.