Torn

I am one of two daughters. I am one of two who are loved fervently by her parents, whose parents are interested in their daughter’s lives, whose parents care so much.

I am one of two who are affectionate and caring, chatty and vibrant. I am one of two who have a soft heart for animals and lost souls. I am one of two who would speak their mind and be honest about what they feel or think. I am one of two loyal to family and friends.

I am the only one of two with a fierce desire to be independent. I am the only one of two that lives far away and actually likes her new home, unexpectedly. I am the only one of two that does not come home twice a month, but once every two months. I am the only one of two that does not help plant the garden and see it grow, or watch the old cats grow old and play with new stuff. I am the only one of two not informed about changes in our parents’ routine or house, because I am hardly home for longer periods.

I am the only one of two who is torn between her desire to be there for her parents and to live her life in a carefree way.
I am the only one of two as happy away from their home as in their home.

I am the only one of two having a new home of her own. And this is the hardest to forgive myself for.