You are my queen.
You are so much cooler than I will ever be. You kissed nine boys on New Year's Eve and I stood completely alone, in a smoky crowd. It probably gave you Glandular fever but I'd bet you'd say it was worth it. You are five years younger than me. You are like a firebolt, bright energy racing across the sky. You are tall and blonde and utterly, devestaingly gorgeous but I won't ever be jealous because it is a privledge to know you. When you were a baby I was the big sister but you have far outstripped me. I'm sorry that I come to you for clothes and makeup advice, because you should be the one to come to me. I can't offer you much in return.
You are sixteen years old and magnificent.
Please don't make yourself vomit, deep in the night anymore. Quit dance, if it makes you this anxious and sick. But you love it. Being on stage with the big smiles and glittery hairspray, the co-ordination and shoes. You have other sisters, thin twins who have more in common with you than me. But we are bound by blood and I'm not going to let you go. Do not take up the blade across your arm again. This is my one prayer.
I want to be as brave as you. I want to be able to look after you. But I can't. My greatest hope is that one day I will be able to and my greatest regret is how long it is taking. I am failing you. I am sorry. Take care, my darling, my queen, my sister.