“Sometimes the sun is too bright,
the laughter too fake,
the joy too fleeting.”

I was so looking forward to living with her again after so many years, I thought she was the dearest person to me, I thought she would appreciate it, even if she didn’t enjoy it. But it’s like I’m worse than a stranger, or the roommate that she wants to avoid.

I want her to eat healthy, have a healthy lifestyle and routine, I want her to be happier than I am. But I’m not her mother. I want her to be a polite person, to not have to feel awkward in front of others because she doesn’t know the right manners, I want her to be liked and for others to enjoy her company. But I’m not her mother. I want her to have the decency that our parents would have wanted in their daughters, I want our parents be proud of her and not have to worry about her. But I’m not her mother. And when she doesn’t care about our relationship, when she couldn’t care less to explain what’s bothering her, when she just builds a wall to shut me out and rips apart my hard earned joy and peace leaving me in ruins. Maybe I should not be a mother.

I am only her sister, the stranger, the roommate.

And sometimes I want to retaliate. I want to take over her entertainment, since she doesn’t enjoy my company. I want to lock her out of the house, since she doesn’t even make it a home. I want to hurt her, the way she is hurting me. And then, I want to not care.

She’s just a stranger, a roommate.