This is a love letter to my sister. She is 9 years older than me. Here is what I know:

She loves horror fiction.

She loves Dan Fogelberg and Kansas and Pink Floyd.

Her laugh is the best, and she laughs a lot.

Time and all kinds of miles in between us and there is not a day that goes by that I am not regretful of what we’ve lost. And grateful for what we’ve found. Maybe we couldn’t be there for each other every single time, but the times we have been able to be matter. They fucking count. I remember listening to Styx and Elton John in her bedroom when she wasn’t home. I remember driving up the canyon together listening to Pat Benatar. Or the Police. I remember seeing her laughing. Crying. I remember never feeling like I could get enough of her eyes. Of her smile.

We will be old together, you and I. I will always keep trying to make you laugh. I will never have enough time with you. I love you, and you are the one for whom I waited for so long.

There’s not enough and so much all at once.

I remember.