It must take incredible resolve to stay focused at the circus. For some, chaos is the buzz and pestering of a simple fly. It is a feat to stay afloat despite being deprived of a lifeboat.
With the self-restraint of saints, equipped with minimal complaint. How does one bite their tongue through lifelong chronic pain, as their loved ones bellow over broken nails and migraines.
This kind of bravery seemed made for comic books and fairy tales; epics based on Viking Gods, or stories about sailors and sperm whales. Until that unforgettable day not too long ago, when I rubbed my eyes, in disbelief, as I watched my own sister effortlessly complete superhuman deeds.
There is nothing quite as loud as the silence that accompanies the truth; it echoes inside of us, before it blares like trumpets in a padded room and then blows off the roof.
I spent a lifetime believing confidence belonged to those who dared to shout. Mistaken, now, as I admit my sister's silence did not stem from her self-doubt. Instead, it was her way of saving us from the fires we started in every single house.
Now, I burn from my own shame, for all the times I cursed her out, assumed she was my rival when she'd only been looking out.
For making false accusations to twisted sisters who laughed at me behind my back, and even to my face. I cannot eat my acidic words, or ever remove those stains. I can, however, commit to behaving the way a brother worthy of her should behave.
I beam, with pride now, as my vision is no longer clouded by my own delusion, or promises uttered by others only to be lost to the wind. Grateful, more than ever, to have finally paid attention long enough to applaud an authentic femme fatale, who is also my best friend.
