I tell myself I will tell her that I love her before
it's too late. but not a moment sooner because
each time she doesn't sleep by midnight, neither
do I. each morning she doesn't get up on time,
we rush pell-mell to school only to be late, each
time I lose something she gives me and she says
it's fine even though I know that she knows
that I know she's hurt each time.

but each time that happens, this happens:

I remember what day she will go away, and
God, that puts me back where this all began.
back when she made me Ribena even though
it was her favourite drink too and it was the
last few drops of cordial. back when she told
all the jokes. back when she used to be my role
model, my fold-out bed, my fall-back-you'd
-better-catch-me. back when I told myself
all I need to be is just like her. but, look,

those dreams got old fast, and now all I want
to do is either punch her in the face or say I'm
sorry. those ideals never matched up with the
reality of how human she is. she will never be
my wonder woman, the girl who wakes up
on time, or the faultless formula for finding x.

no, she will always be exceeding expectations,
slipping underneath my radar, the sand that falls
through my fingers when I try to hold on too tight.
she won't be the star of the show. the stage can't
contain her. no, she will be my North Star in a dark
sky that will show me the way home, even when
she's a million miles away and burning bright.

let's face it, she's better at math than me, so maybe
she knows how this all adds up. all I know is that
she's my sister. and that's enough.