dreamingthroughkit

[dreamingthroughkit]

Vanishing Twin

I spent moments alone

dreaming of him,

pondering the next time

he would hold me in his arms,

oblivious to the world

passing me by

with each second,

each moment

pulling me further from reality.

until a small part of me—

the part with no voice,

noticed silently

that my thoughts,

my wants,

my needs

no longer belonged to me.

and in the mirror,

my reflection

was nowhere to be seen

there was only

an inverted image of him

where I used to be.

~k

[dreamingthroughkit]

My Sister’s Birthday (05.26.21)

The rich, artificial blue of the abstract roses delicately swirled in buttercream frosting decorated the entirety of the small, circular vanilla cake. The cerulean food dye was tantalizing—equivalent to a glass full of the richly false, blue water at the mini golf course in Colorado Springs. The one where the giant gorilla perched atop the plastic cave, and various species of dinosaurs on display throughout the course with signs detailing their origins...signs we did not read. And I wished to dip my finger into the smooth, buttery surface of the decadent desert and feel the waxiness against my skin. Birthdays were phénoménale as much as they were abominable. They were the inescapable fact that each time the Earth circled the sun, we leaned in closer to death. But it was not death that scared me. It was greyed hair and wrinkled skin, a body that was dying, a body that had never lived. Yet, if it were not for time being forced into reality by mechanical ticking clocks and calendar markings, markings we were coerced into believing, I would never grow old. I would stay frozen in this youthful state for as long as I could convince myself to stay. 

I had thought a lot of death, of tragic death, unfortunate ways to meet one’s end. And I was a romantic, even in death. I did not imagine growing old, having a long life well-lived. I died in poetry, in tragedy, in art. I wanted to leave the world in a manner that meant something...that stood out from the inescapable mundaneness of “real life.” Of course, it was not my birthday today, but my sister’s. 

I held my sister in my memory at nondescript ages throughout childhood— laying in bed with our eyes closed dreaming about fairyland, going on family roadtrips in the back of the green minivan, the roundness of her face before the baby fat fell away, the Holiday Inn breakfasts… biscuits and gravy and rotating cereal dispensers full of Froot Loops, her incessant need for drive thru Chik-Fil-A, jumping over mild waves that appeared like tsunamis in my prepubescent brain. Striking poses, diving in the ocean, swimming in indoor pools, Disney movies, and hotel cookies. Cradling her head like a baby while she talked in a funny way that would be politically incorrect today, and there was our turtle that ran away or perhaps got taken by a stray. There was the field where we would play, and the basement where we’d stay and watch new episodes of Avatar on display. There were swim meets and practices riddled with boiled eggs and glasses of milk, falling asleep at recitals when we all used to play violin. There were dark circles she’d paint on her face. Like a raccoon’s eyes, our parents would say. She was barely a teenager then with a whole different group of friends. There was Hollywood Park and the blue, water-proof watch that had been replaced by getting on a plane to LA, slide phones switched out for iPhones, and she’s 24 now. In less than 3 months I’ll be 20. Oh how we’ve changed. Oh how these people we used to be would now seem like strangers to her and me. Strangers we’d embrace with shaky arms and blurry tears. Practically unrecognizable, the roots from which we grew.