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my heart is back home. here, it is dusty. tired. used.
it lies in my mother’s arms. she feels its shallow beats whenever she holds my sister; but our hearts cannot intertwine, my sister and i, because she is small, fragile, innocent, and i am broken, lost; i have seen too much. heard too much. felt too much. i would never expose my sister to a thunderstorm without her knowledge of rain first. no one deserves to be broken down before they even learn how to build themselves back up. she creates her own luck, and i am unlucky. i would shatter if our worlds ever touched.