You hated mornings then, too, didn’t you? I remember you, little fairy child, with cat hair forever on your clothes, and curls framing your sweet, chubby little face. You didn’t care how chubby or skinny you were, or what your future was going to look like, or whether your friends had made you better or ruined you. Those little fingernails were always caked with rich, Asian dirt that knotted and snarled from wind-whipped afternoons in a guava tree. You were sweet, and innocent, and wild, and fresh. It’s odd to think these woman hands grew from that child, that these breasts hang from the same chest that once lay flat and bare, that these same brown eyes have seen more heartache and more glorious beauty than that child could have endured.

It is a cruel punishment that you were to be robbed of your innocence, of your simple, childish ignorance of all that the swirling, sparkling world truly contained. Words you didn’t know existed now slide off your own tongue before you can stop them. Thoughts which you once blushed to think are now shoved in your face by a shameless imagination. Be glad you only fear the dark. Giggle at how you are terrified at the aliens who must be hiding in your closet. It is wonderful, little one, how that is all you fear.

And yet, sweet one, some things will never change. He will always be your brother. I know you sometimes hate his freckled, fiery red head, but you will always be his sister. Always: even if you’re not the only girl he takes on outings. Even if you’re not the only girl he pours his heart out to. You’ve been a part of his sweet years of youth like no other girl— or woman— has. The treasures of the past are locked in the hands of those to whom it belongs.

He explored the wilds of the world before you did. That fiery-headed brother of yours, now turned auburn, entered the frigid waters of reality long before your tender flesh. That is what
made him the man he is, though you’ll never admit he is such a man. Yes, oh yes, young smiling face, he will grow up someday. As will you. And he will watch in fear and awe as you blossom into a woman before his eyes. He will watch as he comes home every holiday to a sister who is just a little more of a woman than she was when he left. He will give you advice more wise than you expected, and tell you honest stories you’re not sure you wanted to know. Your brother will become a man. You will become a woman. But you will always be children when you are together. Renegades of the law of age.