Thursday, July 18, 2013

95. Something of your own

I have a sister. She is significantly younger than I. And she is also adopted.

Even so, I've never felt the innate desire to return home. The act is often forced upon me. So I do visit from time to time, mainly at their request.


I would describe her as an open book; her emotions and expressions are easily readable. She loves to smile. She loves the nearby city. Every time she writes, she says she has a new story to tell me. And every time I visit, I hear them. When she asks how I am, I am never sure what to tell her.

So I give her a smile and find a new way to say that all is well. And that nothing has changed.

Admittedly, I still struggle to see her as my sister. And yet she accepts the relationship as if we were blood-born relatives. But nothing ties us aside from the fact that our adoptive parents are the same parents. To me, that fact establishes nothing. My adoptive parents know this. But they seem to think they know why; that they have all the answers.

They often argue that the military has taken me from them. I haven't the heart to tell them that I was never theirs to begin with.

Word Count: 217

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