My sister and I are so close that we finish each other’s sentences and often wonder who’s memories belong to whom.

We didn’t want to admit it then, but we were friends. Best friends.

You are blood. You are sisters. No man can break that bond.

At this point, none of us are sure why we fight. We’re sisters. We need no good reason to fight, even though we have plenty of them.

I don't feel the need to explain my actions to her. I don't clarify, I don't doubt, I don't worry. I don't tell her everything, not anymore, but I tell her more than anyone else, by far. I tell her as much as I can.

Whoa, that's the kind of little sister I can dig!" said Edison.
"Yes, we're all alike," I said. "We cover for you, we lie for you, we take the heat for you. We clean up your messes and mollify our parents for you. We never fail to come across with undying adoration, whether or not you deserve it, and we can't take our lives as seriously as yours. We snuffle up the crumbs from your table on the rare occasions you notice we're alive.