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Dear Little Sister
Dear Little Sister,
Do you understand?
Do you understand why? Why I don’t look you in the eyes when I speak to you? Why I shut the door and lock it? Why I never let you in?
No, because I would never let you.
But I’ll tell you anyway, little sister.
I did this for you.
Because you see, don’t you, that I am broken.
I am jealous of what you are, what you have, little sister.
The jealousy, this envy, this deadly sin that eats away at my soul and tears me up inside.
I don’t want to be jealous, but I am.
I want the innocence you carry, the world you live in where everything is safe and Mother will always dry your tears.
I don’t live in your world, little sister.
And that is why I must shut you out.
Because should I meet your eyes, little sister, you might get a glimpse of what you could become.
Because should I leave the door open, you might find what you suspect to be invincible, dying, a little, inside.
Because should I let you in, you would have to step into my world, my reality.
You don’t deserve that, little sister.
So I let you cry instead, hazel eyes filled with angry tears when I roll my eyes and tell you to scram.
I let you fight instead, kicking at my shins when I walk by.
I let you glare and spit and spite and hate me, because, little sister, it’s better than the alternative.
Hate me, please, but only hate me now.
Cling on to the memories, of when we wore twin dresses and told each other secrets and I didn’t need to hide myself, because I had nothing to hide.
Love me then, please.
But for now, hate me and what I am.
Maybe, someday, you’ll understand.
I did this for you.