I imagine this moment when my sister asks me how this flame could stay burning for so long when it wasn’t ever real. I see her lips moving and her blonde hair shifting in the breeze, and I watch her stare at me in expectation. I see her waiting for an answer I cannot give. Instead, I hand her my phone and show her these words, these pages and pages of pain that leak from my fingers in daily bursts of agony. She scrolls, her green eyes growing larger with each new revelation of a love I can’t explain. When the reading has abated her curiosity, she stands and stares into the distance. Her eyes glaze over and I know she is not really seeing those mountains or oceans or deserts stretched to the horizon. I know she sees the past but now she beholds it the way I do…

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