WARNING: THE AUTHOR OF THIS BOOK IS MENTALLY INSANE

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I realized this morning,

That it's been three years since I've heard my sister's voice.

I've forgotten what she sounds like.

But, oddly, not how she smells. I'll be walking around our house, usually in the basement when I'll catch a scent that I can't really describe: musky and vaguely nostalgic. And I'll know immediately, "Hey, that's Darcy!"

I also forgot until a few weeks ago that she used to call me penguin, because when I was little in the winter months I would stretch my hands into my jacket pockets and waddle around, chirping happily.

There was the time we had a secret picnic on the play set. And the time she made me a mix CD of her favorite songs. And the times she would lift me up with her feet into the air, and I felt like I was free.

It feels weird to think that to me, she was always an adult, but the truth was all of those memories of her are from when she was my age now, in high school.

I don't feel like an adult.

I just feel lonely.