Noelle was a sister of stars, of Rosalie, the girl coated in invincible stardust.
You, Noelle, were made of compounded flowers a contributing petal from each person whose green thumb graced your skin.
You were a book, pressing roses between your pages and breathing gardens into your lungs while you sister stood aside and broke her golden rib cage to prove something.
You drew constellations on your bedroom ceiling to give Rosalie a new day's worth of hope.
And she laid flowers on your bed every morning you woke up to a new bouquet of flowers to staple to the walls of that stilted house with a broken roof.
You worked together to build a universe all your own, with forests floating in seas of stars and galaxies existing between stems.
