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They say, "You don't know what you have until it's gone."
"Flawed logic," I tell them.
Because I knew you were here, I just had no idea how long it would last.
I was mad the day you graduated; a scowl upon my face.
You: a bird that spread its wings while I still hid in the cracked egg of our childhood.
You learned to fly without a mother to push you,
You saw the world because it was yours to take,
You had savaged for worms with a red wagon at Acme.
And I scowled.
I didn't comprehend.
I tried to pluck the feathers right off you; to wear them as my own.
I tried to glue your ambition on my heart, because that was the only thing that didn't fit in your boxes.
I wanted to be you.
So I scowled . . . That's what children do when they don't get what they want.
Now that I'm older I look back on that scowl with gloom.
Because, yes, you were a bird that needed to fly,
Yes, you came and went like a phase of the moon,
Yes, you graduated,
Yes, you moved out . . .
You were finally gone.
So I scowled in photos.
How could I just watch my role model leave?
But you weren't leaving.
And even now as you graduate college, you're still not going anywhere.
So why am I scowling?
We come from the same branches on a tree,
We are the sum of our family's messed up equation,
We are each other's safety net . . .
We are each other's straight jacket.
But most of all, we are what best friends strive to be.
We are family.
We are sisters.
I promise when you graduate this time, I'll only scowl on the inside.
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