Dear sister,
It's been a long time since I saw your child's eyes. To my surprise,
I look back on how much has changed, yet certain feelings stay the same. We grew up too soon; don't you feel it too? Or perhaps it's just me, forever belonging to those summer days, always searching with an undeniable sense of homesickness. I disguise it well, but throughout my musings and aspirations, I miss it constantly.
Dear sister,
Do you remember our imaginary games? You'd decided the rules but would soon grow impatient at my in-compliance as I dirtied my lovely frock amongst the shrubs on the rockery. I never quite followed orders too well, too curious by nature for my own good. But you were a princess before the world told you otherwise; I wouldn't have listened if I were you, and I still don't nowadays.
Dear sister,
I never quite appreciated at the time those funny old Victorian frocks Mother used to make us wear. Remember those floppy sun hats with matching bows? It wasn't exactly how most mothers dressed their little ones. It's as if our garden was a place forgotten in time, no wonder I lost myself in the romanticism of it all. We've always been a little different, haven't we? But perhaps we were never really supposed to fit in anyway.
Dear sister,
I always thought my daydreams kept me safe because I never wanted to grow up. Even though we left the garden, I carry it in my heart; it's precious, it's never far behind me, and all my dreams and the best of me began there with you and me. But as we grow older and the world grows colder, we should never forget where we came from because it's where we belonged.
I seem to have left my heart there.
