Littlest of Gems
You are the brightest gem I know. Heck! You're the only gem I know, but that doesn't change how I feel about you.
I love you—a lot. And I hate that I've never said this to you, but you are also my gift. My gift from God. And that is why I hate that I hurt you without trying. I hate that I am not adequately able to help you; because, like you, I am also struggling. Yes, I know. I know you are struggling, but I don't know why. Or how. Or for how long. Or how to help.
Littlest of gems, I can see it in your eyes. You are just like me; trying (and sometimes failing) to get by. That is a burden I will carry for as long as I live—and whatever lies beyond death, too. That as your older sister I am/was not able to help or protect you.
Maybe someday, when we are old and blind in one eye and deaf in one ear, we will be able to sit down. And you will speak with me for a minute or two. And you will tell me why, the gate to your castle was nearly as locked as mine.
By then, though, when we are old and blind in one eye and deaf in one ear, I hope you will be joyous and happy. And that many blessings were bestowed upon you. Littlest of gems, maybe someday you can forgive me too?