.to get out.

My sister hates loud music. She doesn't need the open air of a highway, or to make art or love or changes to make peace, happiness, or passion. My sister sleeps when the sun goes down and wakes when it's back. She follows the earth but stands still.

My sister is not me. So I love her.

I need music and art and love and highways and breaks from the sun shifts and long journeys to difference. I need faces that I don't know to be beautiful in their own way so I feel alive and well and patient. I need I need.

She doesn't agree with the perfume I choose. But she loves me.

She works with the elderly, and she comes home every day and tells me to be safe and healthy, so she is not alone in old age. Her occupation terrifies her insides, but still she loves being the one for them. Just waiting and hoping that I or he, or anyone will help and hold her when she has no will to be alone at the age of death.

My soul is uneasy, but patient and willing to wait, or jump, or move until it's orbiting a new sun, just to be happy. My bed is as big as hers. We have men who sleep next to us every night, though we probably pick different sides to sleep. I have never wanted to be closest to the door. For I yearn to run to new places, break scenery and moments all day. My body yearns to rest away from the exit at night. I am happy that way.

I wonder if her exit taunts her. So I love her.