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In a family of twins, our diversity exists in inches and feet, from a 6 to a 4 with 24 in between.  My mother is short like her temper and small like her hate, but she’s tall with her love and a giant with her strength. My father is the largest, much like his humor and wits, with patience as his virtue and vocalization as his sin. My sister is in between, taller than me in talent but shorter than my father in wits. She steals breath with her beauty, but not with her grace. Me? I’m nowhere near my father in his height of wisdom, but I’m taller than my mother in her shortness of breath. I’m neck and neck with my sister as it’s always been, as of now she’s a bit higher up, but I’m still growing, I’ll beat her then. Even with this range, we still have our pride and with our names being the same we stand side by side. I am the courage, small but mighty. Sister is the beauty, large but modest. Father is the smarts, the largest, but the most faint. Mother is the strongest, just a small bit of glue but it keeps us together. Courage, Beauty, Smarts, and Strength.




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