Thinking of my sister

They say I could have called and that would have been better than love, or hope, or sharing the same parents, or a long life in this world together. When we were both alive, there always seemed to be more important things, at least things that required immediate attention. But death is a fire that burns away all the dross, the unnecessary things, and that takes away things that we live our lives for. Now there’s nothing. There are rooms and rooms of never, nothing, and not here— so much of it that it hurts.