Wherever I may be, I'm certain I'll cry once more.

It doesn't hurt me as much as it used to. I try to put one foot in front of the other now, willingly or not. I'm looking for something; that's what I like to say. But really, it's just the same old game.

Late at night, when I find an old notebook or sketchpad, that blurry face I can hardly remember shows up again. Your side bangs. The turtle nightlight. Stars stretched up on the ceiling. Manga sketchbooks. Ouran High School Host Club. Teal. Lavender. Owls. Ralph. Exploring trails. Frogs. Berries. Sharing a bed. Telling me stories. Sister Sundays. All your drawings. All your talent. 

I see you in the clothes I wear. The clothes you left. I see you in my painted nails. I see you in my crayons and books and the room you once slept in. I see you in tote bags, clutch purses and that raggedy old wool sweater nobody can stand. I see you in Chibi art, and I see you in my side bang.

I see my big sister.

That big sister, she lingers behind my steps.

I can't say that the version of you I love doesn't exist anymore. It would kill me too much.

I want to believe. I keep believing. That she's still in there somewhere. I've been believing in you for more than half a decade and you haven't returned. I know that you're gone. I know you're not coming back. I don't know why you became what you did.

Was that really a message from you, or am I hoping for something that doesn't exist?

I know that I'm hoping for someone who doesn't exist. I just don't understand.

Sister Sundays. Bedtime stories. How could you look at me like you did? 

Drawing lessons. You skating without your coat on, like a ballerina. Why did you keep sending me back?

Were you worried? No... if you were, you wouldn't have done that. I'm trying to understand you, and believe once more, but something in me can't excuse it.

It hurts so much. It hurts. You hurt me so much, Olivia.

So I know that when I take a moment to collect my thoughts, my face will get just as blurry as yours.