No, I cannot build a snowman

‘Frozen’, I can’t watch it.  I know the plot, heard the music, but not to the very end.  Because I can’t bear it.  To listen to the songs, nor to build a snowman.  pictureFlashback.  Most of my life ago.  Sisters are precious, but you don’t realize it when you zip through your childhood and adolescence, among good-natured bickering, fragile secrets handed over with tremulous whispers, protected with loyalty and acceptance.  You always assume (or, do you even think about it, really?), that it will be for life, that unspoken bond.  The endless games of storytelling about characters we created together, both enthralled with their wishful adventures, unable to stop talking, even under the blanket of the night, my sister’s childish voice, sleepy and comforting, softening the always dubious obscurity into familiar territory.  Those days spent mesmerized by my life as an ‘almost grown-up’, while she was still too young to start molding her dreams, following with eyes wide open my ‘exhilarating’ adventures.  But one adventure became larger than both of us.  It swept through my confused, idealistic, naïve vision of love and commitment and forever more.  It blew me away, unexpected hurricane of tantalizing promises.  The gap began as a simple, faltering crack between us.  Captivated by my new quest, all on my own, irresistibly seductive, I swept our gentle memories aside, and embarked into my happily ever after. The ocean filled the crack and it became a monster that devoured time.  Happily ever after is only a myth, of course, and it doesn’t possess the strength, later, to sop up all the water, and effectively repair the fracture.  A stony silence instead of I’m sorry, as pride (and emotional panic) mute your voice; the shopping for shoes instead of the verbal revisiting of the days of disbelief and sorrow.  Hiding (crushing!) the memories that break me, pouring cement over them, allowing them to remain hard and cold and cancelled.  But they are not.  Cancelled.  Splinters in my heart, usually dormant, but then I hear a song, or watch my daughters together, and I shut off abruptly, of course, but it’s too late, the splinters have sharpened and the punctures are too agonizing to allow me to breathe.  And, indeed, in the pursuit of my selfish journey, an enormous injury I unintentionally inflicted on my princess Anna, little sister, best friend. Years of attempting to mend it, but sometimes the wounds are too impossible.  No, I cannot build a snowman, too late, too shamefully failed. (But can I?).

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