Lovely Dear

 You walk like the world should pause—Tall as a question mark stretched into certainty,

Hair a shifting storm of colors, each strand a rebellion, each dye a declaration that you won’t be boxed in.

You're smart—sharp as a sudden laugh, quieter than people give you credit for, yet loud in the way you liveout loud.

You dream big, even when your thoughts trail selfishly, like balloons loosed by a child who hasn’t yet learned how precious helium is.

Your smile is perfect because of that snagged tooth—a charming snag in your constellation, proof that beauty doesn’t need straight lines.

Your boobs are huge. I mean, come on. What universal rule did I break to be the older one and still lose that lottery?

You forget things—keys, facts, maybe to call me back—but you remember to love. Even in silence, you show up when it matters.

Kindness runs through you, a little tangled sometimes, like your earbuds at the bottom of your bag.

But it’s there, threaded into every brave decision you don’t even see as brave.

You are made of fire and flaw, a heart that beats through doubt, a soul meant for more than surviving.

If you'd just start—start somewhere, I’d watch you build cathedrals from scraps and conviction.

You are my sister—my mirror, my foil, my forever friend in fight and in laughter. 

We once dropped Barbies from our second story window, watching them fall like plastic stars, our laughter louder than reason, dangling halfway out the screen like wild things born for trouble.

And even now, when life feels taller than us both, I still see you—brave, barefoot, and brilliant at the edge of something, ready to fly if you’d just let go.