The Space You Left Behind

🎈 Happy birthday, sis.

I place the teddy bear and a bouquet of balloons on your resting place. The balloons flutter and dance with the wind, like they know you’re watching. A small part of me always hopes you are.

Then I spread out the blanket I brought—our old one, the one with faded stars—and I sit next to you. I start talking like I used to when you were alive, like you’re just beside me.

In these moments, rare and precious, I almost believe you’re still here.

I tell you everything that’s happened this past year: the fights at home, the secrets I’ve kept, the stories I’ve written about you—ones where you’re still laughing, still living.

I feel like your sibling again.

And when the evening chill finally cuts through my coat and into my bones, I know it’s time to go. I stand slowly, brushing off the grass, and blow you a kiss as I walk away.

Happy birthday, sis. I miss you more than ever.


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💥 Not Our Holiday

Fireworks thunder through the sky. Red, white, and blue explosions ripple like waves across the night.

The world is celebrating.

But not us.

At home, the TV flickers as an old movie plays, but no one is really watching. The popcorn is cold, untouched. Our hearts are somewhere else.

This is the day we lost you.

Mom doesn’t speak. She just sits quietly, working on her cross-stitch like it's the only thing holding her together. The needle rises and falls, over and over. Her silence is louder than the fireworks outside.

And really, what is there to say?

There’s nothing to fix this kind of pain.


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🧳 Leaving the House That Broke Us

I stand outside the house, suitcases at my feet, backpack slung over my shoulder. The Uber is on its way. In a few hours, I’ll be on a plane, headed toward a new chapter. A new home. A new family.

Mom stands in the doorway, arms crossed, her face hard.

She tells me I’m cruel. That I’m abandoning her.

That she’s losing me like she lost you.

That one cut deeper than any goodbye.

How dare she use you to guilt me?

You’re not a weapon.

You’re not a curse.

You’re the reason I’ve survived this long.

I say nothing. I won’t let your memory be twisted into fuel for pain. Thankfully, the Uber pulls up before I say something I can’t take back.

I get in and go.


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✍️ Writing to Remember

Now, I sit at my desk in a city far away. A place where no one knows you. No one knows me.

I open my laptop.

And I begin to write.

Not about the facts—I don’t have enough memories to stitch together a biography. But I write the way I feel about you. The silence you left behind. The questions you never got to answer. The way your name still feels like both a wound and a song.

Sometimes I cry so hard I can barely see the screen. My fingers blur over the keys, but I don’t stop.

Because when the story is finished, I feel lighter.

Like I’m not just mourning you... I’m honoring you.

And when I click Publish, I hope someone out there reads it and feels less alone.


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🌟 For You

You’re gone, and the world didn’t stop.

But mine did.

So I write you back into existence, word by word.

Maybe one day, someone will read my stories and see you there—in the quiet between the sentences.

Until then, I’ll keep writing.

For you.

Always for you.

✍️ Option 1 – Emotional & Reflective (Best for Blush):

A heartfelt letter to a sister lost too soon. Through grief, writing, and painful milestones, I try to hold on to her memory—and find my way back to myself.


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💔 Option 2 – Focused on Family & Loss (Best for Families):

After losing my sister, birthdays, holidays, and home itself changed forever. This is my story of remembrance, heartbreak, and finding a voice through writing when words felt impossible.

Grief #Siblings #Loss #Family #Memory #Healing #Emotional #WritingThroughPain #LifeAfterLoss #Tribute