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it was always different after my sister died. i hated people using that term, i found it so rude, my classmates shoving through to me and asking the dreaded question: 'is your sister dead?'
mum liked to tell people she passed away, my dad also. we were still a family, still the same connection, just minus a member.
i went pretty quiet after the whole thing. i didn't speak up at family gatherings, didn't answer questions, start conversations. i locked myself away in a little world and never opened up to anyone. that made it hard to make friends, have hobbies, and be normal again.
i wasn't looking for any sort of sympathy; the more of a big deal people made about it, the more it crept up on me and haunted me. the more i sat there and contemplated, thought about it, wondered why it happened to her and, well...
not me.
it's been 2 years now. i still think about her, but i've gotten over it, because i'm fifteen and when you're fifteen you can't cry into your pillow and have hugs off your parents, you have to stick your chin up and bite your lip and pretend you don't care.
