My sister and I used to always fight, her sassy attitude clashing with my stubbornness and pitting us against each other. That was, until I made her pinky promise we were best friends, and then our aggressive natures mellowed out. I love my sister. She’s always there when I want to sock someone in the head, she’s there to jump around with, and she’s there to educate me about the illustrious world of Taylor Swift. She yells at me when I don’t know what album a certain song is on. Car rides are filled with “Mom, can you please play Speak Now?” I could talk to her forever about the niche thoughts that pop into my head. I say something stupid, she tells me I’m stupid, but I keep talking. While with my friends, I feel locked like a vault, only letting certain parts of me out, but I say everything to Maddie. All I do is talk, and she talks, and I talk, and she listens, and I listen. I was surprised when she agreed to move our beds into the same room so I could talk to her for three hours before bed each night. I can tell her anything because she is the same person as me. Someone without a sibling may not understand, but the bond between sisters is impossible to replicate. I wouldn’t trade her for the world.
