The two of us could not have been more alike; I always followed her footsteps. I thought I felt the same pain as she did. She cast the words from her soul, branded them on the skins of her strangers; I breathed fire and did the same. I was never more than a year behind. She travelled without shoes or socks, I calloused my feet and let the wind show where I should go. She stood on a hill and talked to thunderstorms, I could only shout at open skies with no response. Now she’s happy, and I’m not dead.