She bought seeds and raided nurseries and mulched and composted and spent full days with her hands full of earth, coaxing life our of the dry, dull grass my father had spent years pushing a mower over.

It wasn't about being happy or unhappy. I just didn't want to be me anymore.

The further you go, the more you have to be proud of. At the same time, in order to come a long way, you have to be behind to begin with. IN the end, though maybe it's not how you reach a place that matters. Just that you get there at all.

I am the middle sister. The one in between. Not oldest, not youngest, not boldest, not nicest. I am the shade of gray, the glass half empty or full, depending on your view. In my life, there has been little that I have done first or better than the one preceding or following me. Of all of us, though, I am the only one who has been broken.

I wondered if it was really because he cared about me, or if now I was just another challenge.

Now I felt like I was drifting, sucked down by an undertow, and too far out to swim back to the shore.

When I pictured myself, it was always like just an outline in a colouring book, with the inside not yet completed.