A Poem for Monica:

When did you become such an old soul?

It seems here, right before my eyes, the transformation has officially been completed.

In a world of frustration and emptiness, I found solace in your voice.

What did I do to be so lucky?  Surely I’ve done nothing for the world to deserve such benevolence.

Yet, there you are.  You’ve pulled me through the toughest of times.

All of a sudden, I feel as though you are the older one.

In reality, we scratch each other’s back.  I remember the days we played and laughed and cried, together.

It will always be that way, because we’ve got one another to do the dirty work.

So when it’s your turn to cry, I’ll be there.

When it’s your turn to feel pain, as the human condition inevitably necessitates, you will not be alone.

And neither will I.

The world will crumble and implode before our eyes, but it won’t matter because we’ll have what matters most buried deep inside our hearts.

Bound to each other by the invisible benevolence of chance, I thank my lucky stars that my little sister is also my best friend.

Incalculably indebted in such an enigma; this is a thing that cannot come undone.