They wear their hearts on their sleeves like it’s the latest trend.
They sit, their legs crossed before them or beneath them, and watch the world with eyes bright enough to put the sky to shame. They take it all in like it was made for them. Their dimples deep enough to rival the moon’s, their curls wild enough to snag on the stars—they are so small and yet somehow they fill so much space. These damsels that cause distress. Lionhearted little ladies. Stubbornly generous and ignorantly wise and so, so beautiful. They know they belong to no one but themselves.
they were the same, almost. the same red hair, too curly to tame, flames around a cream white face. the same green eyes. if she looked in the mirror she could almost pretend that amy was still there. but what good is imagination at this point? they weren’t the same, but they were close enough. nature never favors repetition.
Although we are sisters, we have nothing in common. I’m a nerd and she’s street smart. I’m a navel-gazer and she never looks inside, ever. My joke is the only thing that we do have in common is parents. The other thing is love.
We were always sisters, even when we were didn’t share blood. That’s what happens when you fall in love with a friend, fall in love with the way her shiny black hair falls out into your hands when you braid it, splaying across your fingers like they were veins. I remember the day we made it official, slitting our ankles since they would later be covered up with socks. We did it in her backyard, because she had a tree that could fit two people at once. We swore, our mouths dry with lipstick stolen from my older sister’s closet: Sisters until death. My hand was still soft, because I hadn’t developed callouses yet, when it pressed drops of my blood into her cut.
I know it’s weird, but sometimes I still find her hair under my pillow. Every now and then it creates words on my shower wall, and I like to ask it questions. Mostly I ask it about the weather, or what TV shows it likes to watch, because I know I’m not the only one it visits, and people like her mother ask questions harder to answer, like, “Where did you go?” and, “Please tell me how to find you.”
I try to make it fun, when I find the strands in my pasta. “Did you see what happened in the Project Runway Finale,” I ask when the black hairs hang on my freshly done laundry. But one Sunday morning I was taking a bath even though I didn’t have to go anywhere fancy, just trying out bath soaps that were too expensive to be wasted like this, and the hair wound itself around the faucet. I could tell it was there to stay for a while. “Did you mean it?” I asked, leaning forward in the bubbles. “When you said we were sisters?”
The water was almost cold by time it twisted itself into words on the wall. “Sisters until death,” it said.
what does it mean to be a sister?
I’m an only child, so I don’t know.
How can you love and be annoyed at someone at the same time?
Sometimes a wish I had a sister, but mostly I’m happy without one.
what does it mean to be a sister?
I must say it was hard to find your page in google.
You write awesome posts but you should rank your page
higher in search engines. If you don’t know 2017 seo techniues search on youtube:
how to rank a website Marcel’s way
Liz and Annabel hung out together always. Liz was the oldest, by ten minutes, and Annabel the baby. They called each other Sister. But no one could understand that because they had their own language. It was swift, it sounded like babel, yet they nodded while talking, sometimes they erupted in laughter, their language made sense to them. Their mother claimed they came out talking. That they did not look at her even while she breast fed them. She had to breast feed them two at a time or they both screamed. The mother said she should have called them Siamese One and Siamese Two even though they were not attached physically, at least, not exactly. They were never out of physical touch of each other. They pushed and shoved in crowds so as not to be separated, not to lose contact. Annabel died first, at age 80. Liz said, in perfect English, “Not fair,” and died ten minutes later.
Sisters should help you when your down. Sisters should bring you joy and never frowns. Sisters are like a circle of trust. Sisters help you to live a life of love. Sisters are my bridge to life.
I don’t like sister. I can’t say I hate them because they’re my family. Still, they aren’t my favorite. They always used to dress me up in a to-to and gave me makeovers. I hated it. She still tries to. The only thing she can do now is paint my nails, nut I still don’t let her do that.
When I hear the word sisters I think of them being annoying because that’s what they normally do and they bother everyone so I wish I will never have a sister.
Sisters is plural for sister and sister is a girl who you are related to by blood and has the same exact parents and all of that, and some people have sisters and others have brothers either way they are siblings.I have a sister and she is older than me.
She inhaled her laughter, trying not to draw attention to herself. Next to her, Emily was losing her cool, shaking silently, putting her fist in her mouth.
Sisters, hard to explain but we are. Our similarities are harsh, it’s like seeing the worst parts of yourself in the mirror but animated differently, able to talk and have a life outside of you, able to cause messes and disasters and still at the end of it turn and say, I’m of your bones.
Schwestern. Sie sind sich ähnlich, ziemlich ähnlich, aber weniger ähnlich als Zwillinge. Manche Schwestern machen nahezu alles zusammen. Manchmal wünsche ich mir so eine Schwester. Eine zu der unendliches Vertrauen da ist. Eine, der ich wirklich alles erzählen kann, ohne Angst davor, be- und verurteilt zu werden.
Seven sisters held hands before the angry king, whose face turned purple at the sight. He instructed his guards to execute them – ALL of them – but their halberds crumbled into dust before they could even aim their points at the women’s chests. The sisters sang, their hair bristling in a sudden wind, and their words were incoherent to the monarch. But that was because he did not understand the Ancient Tongue, as true heirs to the throne were supposed to.
When I was little, I used to wish I had sisters instead of brothers. Then I met people who had sisters and wished that THEY had brothers. It’s the great riddle of life, why we always want what we don’t have.
They wear their hearts on their sleeves like it’s the latest trend.
They sit, their legs crossed before them or beneath them, and watch the world with eyes bright enough to put the sky to shame. They take it all in like it was made for them. Their dimples deep enough to rival the moon’s, their curls wild enough to snag on the stars—they are so small and yet somehow they fill so much space. These damsels that cause distress. Lionhearted little ladies. Stubbornly generous and ignorantly wise and so, so beautiful. They know they belong to no one but themselves.
they were the same, almost. the same red hair, too curly to tame, flames around a cream white face. the same green eyes. if she looked in the mirror she could almost pretend that amy was still there. but what good is imagination at this point? they weren’t the same, but they were close enough. nature never favors repetition.
Two sisters never got along.
Well, except in one situation.
They bonded over their love of knitting, the intricate loops and soft yarn, wound together in a beautiful pattern.
And maybe that was it. Knitting was knots. And it knotted them together.
Although we are sisters, we have nothing in common. I’m a nerd and she’s street smart. I’m a navel-gazer and she never looks inside, ever. My joke is the only thing that we do have in common is parents. The other thing is love.
Sisters are the rock,
the foundation of love,
the beginning of hate,
and the meaning of family.
Love will win
through all hard times.
flamboyant inconsistancies
Sistine penitentiaries
sent and seen, since
sassafrass and syrup
silky mysteries
I once had two sister.
Now I have none.
The first was my mother’s.
The second, my father’s.
Now I am married
She never was mine.
Sisters need misters.
Now mine has none.
I used to have two sisters.
Now I have none.
my knee gave way,and I had to limp home from work. My brother twisted his knee really goo
We were always sisters, even when we were didn’t share blood. That’s what happens when you fall in love with a friend, fall in love with the way her shiny black hair falls out into your hands when you braid it, splaying across your fingers like they were veins. I remember the day we made it official, slitting our ankles since they would later be covered up with socks. We did it in her backyard, because she had a tree that could fit two people at once. We swore, our mouths dry with lipstick stolen from my older sister’s closet: Sisters until death. My hand was still soft, because I hadn’t developed callouses yet, when it pressed drops of my blood into her cut.
I know it’s weird, but sometimes I still find her hair under my pillow. Every now and then it creates words on my shower wall, and I like to ask it questions. Mostly I ask it about the weather, or what TV shows it likes to watch, because I know I’m not the only one it visits, and people like her mother ask questions harder to answer, like, “Where did you go?” and, “Please tell me how to find you.”
I try to make it fun, when I find the strands in my pasta. “Did you see what happened in the Project Runway Finale,” I ask when the black hairs hang on my freshly done laundry. But one Sunday morning I was taking a bath even though I didn’t have to go anywhere fancy, just trying out bath soaps that were too expensive to be wasted like this, and the hair wound itself around the faucet. I could tell it was there to stay for a while. “Did you mean it?” I asked, leaning forward in the bubbles. “When you said we were sisters?”
The water was almost cold by time it twisted itself into words on the wall. “Sisters until death,” it said.
I guess I’m an only child, then.
I wish I had sisters so bad and if my parents would adopt a sister my age for me
what does it mean to be a sister?
I’m an only child, so I don’t know.
How can you love and be annoyed at someone at the same time?
Sometimes a wish I had a sister, but mostly I’m happy without one.
what does it mean to be a sister?
I must say it was hard to find your page in google.
You write awesome posts but you should rank your page
higher in search engines. If you don’t know 2017 seo techniues search on youtube:
how to rank a website Marcel’s way
We three. Decades apart, yet so close. Can go forever without seeing, and love obnoxiously when we do. Can’t live without, and can’t love without.
Liz and Annabel hung out together always. Liz was the oldest, by ten minutes, and Annabel the baby. They called each other Sister. But no one could understand that because they had their own language. It was swift, it sounded like babel, yet they nodded while talking, sometimes they erupted in laughter, their language made sense to them. Their mother claimed they came out talking. That they did not look at her even while she breast fed them. She had to breast feed them two at a time or they both screamed. The mother said she should have called them Siamese One and Siamese Two even though they were not attached physically, at least, not exactly. They were never out of physical touch of each other. They pushed and shoved in crowds so as not to be separated, not to lose contact. Annabel died first, at age 80. Liz said, in perfect English, “Not fair,” and died ten minutes later.
Sisters should help you when your down. Sisters should bring you joy and never frowns. Sisters are like a circle of trust. Sisters help you to live a life of love. Sisters are my bridge to life.
When I think of word sisters I think of my big sister and my 4 other sister they are only 5,3,3,3
My sisters are young and tiny.One of them is a girly girl and the other is a Tomboy.
I don’t have any sisters I have one brother instead of sisters.
Sisters are very Annoying I have to live with to of them every single.
I have four sisters and two brothers. I only have two brothers and one sister that live near me. I don’t see the others much.
I don’t like sister. I can’t say I hate them because they’re my family. Still, they aren’t my favorite. They always used to dress me up in a to-to and gave me makeovers. I hated it. She still tries to. The only thing she can do now is paint my nails, nut I still don’t let her do that.
When I hear the word sisters I think of them being annoying because that’s what they normally do and they bother everyone so I wish I will never have a sister.
I do not have sisters but I have cousins that are like my sisters.I want a brother if my mom has another kid.
What I think of sisters is like your sblins that are your sisters.
The three sisters went to the park.
When I think of sisters I think of my sister. I don’t like this world because my sister bothers me a lot.
I’m not a fan of sisters they always cleannnnnnnnn
I have a sister by a I mean one but my sister feels like a million sisters.
I have two half sisters ,but I kinda wish I had a little sisters.
when I see the word sister i see like a sister
Sisters is plural for sister and sister is a girl who you are related to by blood and has the same exact parents and all of that, and some people have sisters and others have brothers either way they are siblings.I have a sister and she is older than me.
When I hear sisters I think of siblings which are family members.i only have 1 step sister she is bratty sometimes
Sisters are family. I have 2 sisters. They are basically your siblings. Sisters are the opposite of brothers.
When I think of sister I think of like brother and sister.
She inhaled her laughter, trying not to draw attention to herself. Next to her, Emily was losing her cool, shaking silently, putting her fist in her mouth.
Sisters, hard to explain but we are. Our similarities are harsh, it’s like seeing the worst parts of yourself in the mirror but animated differently, able to talk and have a life outside of you, able to cause messes and disasters and still at the end of it turn and say, I’m of your bones.
Schwestern. Sie sind sich ähnlich, ziemlich ähnlich, aber weniger ähnlich als Zwillinge. Manche Schwestern machen nahezu alles zusammen. Manchmal wünsche ich mir so eine Schwester. Eine zu der unendliches Vertrauen da ist. Eine, der ich wirklich alles erzählen kann, ohne Angst davor, be- und verurteilt zu werden.
Having them is enough trouble already. Do you expect me to write something about them? What’s the next word of the day, “parents”?
Seven sisters held hands before the angry king, whose face turned purple at the sight. He instructed his guards to execute them – ALL of them – but their halberds crumbled into dust before they could even aim their points at the women’s chests. The sisters sang, their hair bristling in a sudden wind, and their words were incoherent to the monarch. But that was because he did not understand the Ancient Tongue, as true heirs to the throne were supposed to.
When I was little, I used to wish I had sisters instead of brothers. Then I met people who had sisters and wished that THEY had brothers. It’s the great riddle of life, why we always want what we don’t have.