Notes from the bathroom floor.

those were always the days i came back to you, placing every cracked piece of myself into your hands as if they had always known how to hold me.

god, how desperately i want to tell you about my day.

to watch your face break into laughter at the ridiculous things only i could manage to do.

i ache to steal another one of your beautiful blouses, pretending i would give it back while secretly hoping it would forever smell like you.

i want to sit behind you and brush my fingers through your impossibly long hair, telling you, again, please don't dye it brown. it already carries every shade of home.

there are so many ordinary moments that became sacred only after you were gone.

grief, you cruel monster. it doesn't only steal the grand things.

it steals the conversations that never happened, the laughter that never reached the room, the sister i still instinctively reach for.

i miss you.

i miss the place where my heart didn't have to defend itself.

i miss my sister.