at the age of five,

you crashed into my ribs

the bus trudging forth beneath your young feet

graciously throwing you into me, tangled in the locks of my hair

as you were a visitor i had not expected in the abode of my seat

yet one i inevitably made space for in the years to come

at the age of seven,

we began to build skyscrapers and towers of silver

crafted merely from the lego blocks discovered in the shadows beneath my bed

only to topple them down with our delicate young hands

as we chugged water from our ceramic mugs

pretending it was herbal tea that cascaded down our throats instead

at the age of nine,

we were sisters, founded in spirit not flesh

our families played along in our silly little game

one in which the gods made a mistake, us not born from the same womb

but no matter, they fixed it, thrusting their hands through the air to push you onto me,

to bind us at the hip, the way they had properly intended

at the age of eleven,

you had your own seat amongst the dinner table,

your own silverware to match your ginger freckles,

your own blanket that rested atop my bed for whenever you would return

and that you would, soon and sure as school released you from its daily grasp

and like that, we would pick up where we had left off, our adolescence reigniting

at the age of thirteen,

we floated on pool noodles above chilled waters,

but despite the ice gnawing at our shaven shins,

it was our dreams that absorbed our thoughts, collecting each and every one as eggs in a basket

planning our futures out like blueprints, carefully aligned with a matching instruction

the promised days that we would share together, outlined hour by hour

at the age of fifteen,

it was only me you had in your embrace for months

your other friends faded to the background, no more than an extra in a movie,

and youthfulness filled your lungs, a breath of air once lost to our early years,

as our sisterhood had returned, a strike of lightning the gods could not miss,

one that seeped into their memories, spilling over all others

at the age of sixteen,

you had new friends, new faces i could only make out from the stories you told

the one about the blonde, the one about the brunette, both infatuated with gossip

and alongside the passing breeze, they whispered back a story to me about you

that a boy had kissed you at a party, sweet and chaste as a bee and a flower

yet i ignored it, blind to the reality that childhood began to drain from your heart

at the age of seventeen,

your teens had been sapped away from you

the childish giggle and lousy smile ceased to show, hidden behind a veil,

one you would not let me unravel, secrets of yours that my ears would no longer hear

as the time that was pledged to me by the entanglement of our pinky fingers was no longer mine

the minutes, hours, and days once held in my palm belonged to another name written with hearts

and now, at the age of eighteen,

my tongue struggles to say your name

a muscle memory now forgotten with time,

our childhood now threadbare in my mind, everything about you gone,

all except the promises we had once breathed

and the future that i tattooed to the back of my hand

i think of our cat, milo,

who would now be shared between you and someone i will not know,

and our dream of traveling,

one that will not make it alive out of this country,

and our beautiful, beautiful memories,

that are now never to be made, only to be experienced with another

at the age of seven,

i had not realized that growing up meant growing apart,

but at the age of eighteen,

i curse the gods for not letting me know it sooner.