They are the only ones who fight me. I am the only one who fights for them. Five obnoxious siblings with storm cloud eyes and vanilla malt hair like mine. Five who are the only enemy I can't live without. Five underestimated, overlooked companions passed on by society. From downstairs, you can hear their bickering, but Mama knows all is well.

Their bond is secret. They form the undercover shadow always near. They grow old and they grow apart like branches on a willow tree, but their roots remain. This is how the siblings stem.

Let parents arrested by death, they'd all wither quickly like green grass and fade like the seasons, each still from that same dirt.  Love, love, love they say when I leave. They are my tears.

When I am too tattered and too troubled to take another step, when I am a sesame seed surrounded by seagulls, I think of my siblings. When there is only me who hasn't deceased. Five who grew despite life's plague. Five who flourished and do not forget to flourish. Five whose only reason is to each other and each other.