my little sister.
The one that could have fought the anger demon, and got away with it.
The one that my grandmothers were scared off
The one that could not stand or walk in due time
The one that always knew something more than me
The one that was never listening
although I was almost always right.
The one that had my heart since she eat her own poo with her left hand, when she was 3 or 4 months old.
The one that always got me to fight as we were back on the street, fighting the bullies on the streets.
The one that always looked up to me somehow.
The one that knows me best. With all the good, all the ugly and all the dreams from childhood.
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