If genetic connections could be enough to spur us to fulfill the familial expectations we have placed on ourselves—for which we shrug off our guilt, for which we make unnecessary efforts—I would be a better part of your guild. Instead, I am periphery and shadow, occasional water. We were planted in similar soils, but I am cactus flower to your dahlia; I will not bless you with blossom as easily as you will grace me with color.
My sister, my strange sibling, my distant, onyx-haired fairy tale princess vying for her rightful place; I am the luck of the draw, the chance changeling. I know you’ve forgiven me for everything I could not control, for all the days I lived in the sun’s shining glory while you smiled in anticipation of a brief moment of light. The decision made by our mutual core, the fate of children left in the hearts of whims and bad choices, we exist together in the space of time and separated by miles of more than highway.
Our paths would never have crossed but for our genetics. I fail you all the time in my comfort. Any apology would be cold and false because my lack of effort resulted from circumstances I did not control. I understand your zing and blossom, your cling to the father no one can hold, your search for strength. You’ve earned your time in the sun. Flower the way only you can. Outbloom me.