Dedicated to my little, kindred sister. I grew up wanting to grow up beside you. To braid her hair and get mad at her when she stole my princess dresses. I grew up wanting a built in sleepover buddy that would giggle under the sheets with the flashlight. And years later, I met you. I like to think that fate knew that moment was meant for you and me, the moment we met. Instantly you were mine and I was yours, and my inner child hugged you so big. You healed me, I will always hold your light in my arms even when you and I are not so little anymore.
We may not share the same nose or chin, but our laugh is…
( My dear little sister’s name will be Martha B. 😉 )
That sorority I once told you about, the one that first brought me my big sister, wasn’t quite finished with me. Even if I didn’t stay long, it left a few marks on my story. Its parting gift was simple but lasting. It placed me right where I needed to be, long enough to meet the eyes of the soul who would soon become my little sister, Martha B.
Just like I had walked through those frightening doors the year before, I received her arm in arm. She reminded me, of me, the second we locked eyes. As we sat down, I felt this sense of transparency overwhelm me. It was easy with her, those big beautiful eyes and bright smile let me feel calm. And it was my job to do that!
I still remember the night on the day I met her. Mary Ann and I were walking back to our cars in a dim parking lot, and I could not stop talking about her. I kept asking my friends, “do you see it too or is it just me?” They humored me, but I wasn’t focused on what we had in common. It was the feeling. Something familiar, something warm. I sat next to Mary Ann in the car practically giddy, smiling like I had a little crush on the universe. A twin-flame kind of crush.
…smiling like I had a little crush on the universe. A twin-flame kind of crush
Spoiler: she chose my sorority, and I was thrilled-BEAMING. The day it became official we ran into each other’s arms, laughing and half screaming. She was loud like me, the kind of loud that comes from joy, not attention, where excitement just spills out. We laughed a lot that day, and somehow those same laughs still echo in our lives now…
What she didn’t know then was that, behind the scenes, I was already wrestling with my place in that world of greek life. The sorority had started to feel toxic for me. I was quietly preparing to leave while also hoping I could stay long enough to call her my little sister. I didn’t know how much longer I had in me, only that meeting her made it harder to walk away.
I wanted her to know I had chosen to leave the sorority. I invited her over, sat her down and talked to her. I was crying, and she comforted me. Again, hello, my job! She looked at me deeply and said, I don’t care about if you are in it or not, we met for a reason, you are my big sister from this moment forward. I sighed in relief, the one thing I was scared of from walking away was loosing people. How sad I thought that the world of greek life had made me loose sight of the principle. Titles don’t matter, only you can control the care behind what you choose to label yourself and relationships as. No one else. In that moment, Martha B had no idea what those words showed me.
After that, our friendship grew quietly but steadily. I supported her from the sidelines while she continued her sorority journey, and in many ways I always did. For a while our bond felt almost private, like something we were nurturing away from the noise. I carried a protective instinct toward her, not to guard her from life, but to remind her she could walk through it with open eyes. There was a softness in her I recognized, and I wanted the world to be gentle with it.
We didn’t need constant talking to feel close. We made time when it mattered. If one of us called, the other answered. It was understood, our own language nature created and we nurtured. The kind of understanding that doesn’t need explaining. There’s something sacred about a chosen little sister. It’s not just a title, it’s a quiet agreement to show up for each other while you’re both still figuring life out. We met at an age where everything was shifting, identities forming, dreams changing, confidence wobbling. And somehow, while our lives kept evolving, the ease between us never did. The laughter stayed familiar, and comfort of each other’s company constant.
I never really knew what it meant to feel like a big sister before her. It wasn’t a role I grew up practicing, and it didn’t come with a manual. But with her, it unfolded naturally. Not in a loud, obvious way, but in the quiet instincts. It taught me that being a big sister isn’t about guiding someone’s life, it’s about standing near them while they figure it out themselves.
It was understood, our own language nature created and we nurtured.
When my heart broke, she was one of the first to show up. Martha B got me out of bed when I wanted to stay under the covers, took me to eat even when I said I wasn’t hungry, and somehow made me laugh when I thought I couldn’t.
That first laugh after heartbreak feels almost foreign, and she gave it back to me. She sat across from me, listening more than speaking, protecting in her quiet way. She didn’t try to solve it, she just stayed. And sometimes staying is the most loving thing someone can do.
In another chapter, when I was the one moving on, she helped me close it. Just like a little sister would she took my bed and bed frame when I moved out, helping me pack up pieces of a life I was outgrowing. I remember the strange mix of sadness and relief as my room emptied. I remember driving away while she and her boyfriend adjusted that bed frame on the truck, realizing she was the last familiar face I saw before my new life began.
Some people don’t just witness your timelines, they become part of them. Martha B bought a lifetime plan in the catalogue of friendship.
Our sisterhood lives in the small rituals. Monthly dinners that turn into life updates, sitting across from each other picking apart our thoughts, random daily motions, our worries. She comes to me with questions, and I answer with advice I’m still learning myself. She reminds me to be bold, to stay loud about life, to not shrink when the world asks me to be quieter. I’ve watched Martha B’s heart move through hopeful chapters, a few frogs, and finally a prince who meets her where she stands. Through it all, she’s folded me into her world, her family, her sisters, like I was always meant to belong there.
She reminds me to be bold, to stay loud about life, to not shrink when the world asks me to be quieter.
And then there are the little memories that matter just as much. Her 21st birthday a little too fueled by espresso martinis, whispering half-serious witch spells like we could manifest the lives we dreamed of, laughing until our stomachs hurt and we forget what started it. Traditions we started and never plan on ending no matter the distance in between. Our birthdays are close and we found that so meant to be, so every birthday we blow birthday candles out together. When we say hello to each other, there are lots of jumps involved and big hug.
My love language has always been cooking, and she learned that quickly. She’d come over to my home and I’d cook for us, meals that somehow turned into hours. We talk about everything and nothing, life updates that felt small but mattered, and the occasional dramatic story that had us both yelling across the table. Those dinners felt like adulting in the sweetest way, somehow, in the middle of trying to be grown-ups, she always brought me back to my kindred, playful self.
Some friends make love feel complicated. With her, it’s always been easy.
I owe her a lot of my bad days turning into good ones. Not because she fixed anything, but because she made heaviness feel lighter just by being there. She laughed with me, and that was our remedy. Some friends make love feel complicated. With her, it’s always been easy. Easy to love, easy to talk to, easy to share the mundane and the monumental. The kind you can sit in silence with or scream and laugh with.
There’s a quiet intimacy in growing alongside someone who witnesses your ordinary days. Not just the milestones, but the in-betweens. The grocery runs, the tired nights, the small doubts, the little victories. That’s where real sisterhood lives, in the accumulation of moments no one else sees. And maybe that’s why chosen sisters matter so much. They meet you as you are and somehow make room for who you’re becoming.
She let me be her big sister, and that’s a privilege I carry gently. Not all sisters are given at birth. Some arrive as strangers and slowly become home. Being her big sister was never about titles, it was about heart. About the quiet promise to care for someone as they become themselves.
Our bond isn’t in a lineage, it’s in the memories, the dinners, the talks, the excitement of what is to come for you in life.
We don’t share the same nose and chin, but we share the same laugh… and that feature is ageless.
I love you little one, my dearest Martha B.
Until the next pour,
Bx
Entry Level Position- On Life? 
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