She sleeps in my bed, wears my clothes, and mom holds her dear; but she is not me.
She goes to my classes, speaks like me, and dad holds her dear; but she is not me.
I never noticed her arrival, never noticed what I once knew had been framed on the wall.
Maybe she came when the cat passed away, because for months I really did bawl.
Maybe she came when all of my friends moved away, because college came that fall.
Whenever she came, no matter the cause, I am certain I know what she is here for.
The days are gone where I stood very small, and I complained at every chore.
The days are gone where I sat on my parents shoulders, and ducked under every frame of a door.
I now know her presence is needed, that she is trying her best, but for me this feels much more harder than she.
She is me but much older, in my bed, wearing my clothes, and my mom still holds her as she did me.
She is me but much wiser, in my classes, speaking like me, and my dad still holds her as she did me.
I did not fully treasure the days I had
but if she flourishes through the rest of what we were given, I’ll be glad.
She came for me, yet I am not sad
I am gone, but I know she'll remember me