“i had a dream he left her and came back to me. have you ever had a dream like that?”
i scoffed, “never.”
“really? even after that whole incident a few years ago?”
“no,” i kicked the rocks in my path of destruction, “because i knew it would never happen. i guess my subconscious did too.”
“well, it’s nice to dream, even if it isn’t possible. i felt good until i woke up.”
i rolled my eyes, “what good does that do?” chelsea shrugged and we kept walking.
it was getting dark. it was nice to go on walks with my sister again. we hadn’t since i was in middle school. even though we always detested each other to the great lengths of cracking eggs over each others heads while the other was sleeping, i always cherished the time we did spend civil with each other. back then it usually involved conversations like these, contemplating the meaning of life and why the men in our lives were scum bags. telling stories about our broken hearts, whether it was minor or major. even when i was in middle school my heart was getting stomped on my pubescent jerks on their skateboards while chelsea was the one breaking hearts of all the horny high-schoolers knocking on our door for her. more importantly, we discussed why the women in our lives were scum bags as well and why they had influenced us so. rampaging about why mom cheated on dad and why our aunts were drunks. the more time she spent living with me the more i realized how much we had in common. she was finally starting to feel like a sister and it felt much nicer than i expected.