We’re all a little insane, aren’t we?
Loving book characters who breathe only because an author decided they should, characters who spill ink when they bleed, and whose hearts beat only when you pick up their story.
How is it possible to love someone who’s made of words?
Then again, I did it too, except when I stop reading these particular words the girl on the other side of the story still exists.
She’s got an obsession with rugby players, sings adorably off key, creates art better than I bloody breathe, gets into way too many fights on social media....
She has an obsession with singing “God Save the Queen," she laughs freely, chugs tea, binges on teen wolf, hides from her flatmates, has the best comebacks known to humankind….
And I know her only through texts and brief Skype calls.
What does knowing someone even mean? I don’t know what she looks like when she walks, I’ve never met her mum, I don’t know how it feels to hug her.
And yet she’s more present in my life from across the world
than many people I see every day
We’ve got different mothers, different siblings, different hair, different skin colors….but when I see her smile on the other side of a screen three thousand miles thick, I know she’s my sister.