That night when she broke up with her boyfriend, I stroked her dark black hair as she wept and fell asleep only after I watched her go to sleep. The next day she went back to him.
That night when she broke up with her boyfriend, I leaned against the bathroom door and listened to the sound of her crying in the shower, soft whimpers and long, aching moans. I watched her small shoulders shudder as she folded her thin arms and clutched her breasts.
The next day we went out together, and I did everything I could to please her. We went to K Box because she loves to sing, and I let her pick all her favourite songs. I clapped hard when she hit the high notes and I praised her. Beautiful, I said. You have a beautiful, beautiful voice. She smiled. She has an amazing smile. Her phone rang. She picked it up and she left without a word. She went back to him. I paid the bill.
I am always the one watching, the one waiting. It is as though I am only a temporary spare part to be used when something needs to be fixed. I am on stand-by, to be put aside when something better -there is always something better- comes along.
Strangers can use you and leave you, sisters can't. Strangers can throw sand on your wound and dig the pain even deeper. Sisters can't. Strangers can walk away. Sisters can't.