She Is

She is Ellen, and I am Anne.

I am the older, by five years, but she is the wiser by decades.

I did not welcome her into my world, but after she arrived

I could not imagine life without her

We are not traditional sisters or siblings.

We seldom call each other and have never face timed or zoomed.

Yet when we need each other, we are there without pause or hesitation.

She is wiser and has been since infancy.

She is charismatic, and lights up a room.

I am neither and have never tried to emulate her.

We never share clothes, but instantly share excitement and news about a new book or author we discover.

She reads more than I, but seldom speaks about her treasury of knowledge.

She is far more vocal, but intensively private. I am quiet, but share my inner soul in print.

She was always the joy of our Mother’s life. Often I was her despair.

She held my hand as a child when I cried. She has cried only once and asked for mine.

She was born with the courage I lacked and without the fears I inherited.

I envied both.

She shares humor even while in the bleakest of despair. I share trepidation even on the sunniest of days.

She has hair of gold. Mine remains the black of ink.

She sought the sun; I found comfort in the snow.

She arrived late for my beloved’s farewell, embraced me when I needed her most and made me realize I could still smile.

She and I both lost our hearts but only once and remained ever true.

She is the most beloved sister mine, and tomorrow is her birthday.

I wish her love and gratitude for always enhancing my world.

She is Ellen and I am Anne.