My sister self

There is another me I talk to sometimes.  Another version of who I am.

I speak to her a lot when things are at their worst and there is no-one else for whom the words would come out.

She listens.  She tells me what I already know but can’t believe; that things are not so bad.  Then she makes me laugh, out loud, with a story of something silly she did just the other day.  I can see her doing it as she describes it and I remember why I love my sister so much.  Myself, but better, stronger, and not so serious.  And I remember another version of who I am.  A happier self, because of my sister.

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