I used to think I was a writer until I met my little sister.
And by met, of course, I mean the point where we crossed from big sister/little sister into friends. Not sure when it happened, but I loved it.
She writes beautiful things every day. Not just random rantings about life, but real raw intimate, heartfelt emotion that forces you to feel – to think – to step outside of yourself.
I love my family. I love that we all get to be different, yet in so many ways, we’re all the same. I love that we lead, dream, fight, speak our minds, ask questions, laugh, love – we live. I love that I got to grow up with these wonderful people, who taught me so much about myself and about the world.
I love that my parents taught us how to be these people in the way that they love each other and the way that they live their lives and pursue their dreams.
And I love that my daughter gets these people in her life.