Everyone has always said I look like Bailey, but I don't.I have grey eyes to her green, an oval face to her heart-shaped one,I'm shorter, scrawnier, paler, flatter, plainer, tamer. All we shared is a madhouse of curlsthat I imprison in a ponytailwhile she let hers ravelike madnessaround her head.I don't sing in my sleepor eat the petals off flowersor run into the rain instead of out of it.I'm the unplugged-in one, the side-kick sister, tucked into a corner of her shadow. Boys followed her everywhere; they filled the booths at the restaurant where she waitressed, herded around her at the river. One day, I saw a boy come up behind herand pull a strand of her long hairI understood this-I felt the same way. In photographs of us together, she is always looking at the camera, and I am always looking at her.
For a moment amongst the crowd, I saw you. I've since found out it's common for people separated from someone they love to keep seeing that loved one amongst strangers; something to do with recognition units in our brain being too heated and too easily triggered. This cruel trick of the mind lasted only a few moments, but was long enough to feel with physical force how much I needed you.