My sister died. She was my baby sister, though taller. We didn’t take nearly enough pictures of us together, though we weren’t together often as we lived apart. She used to dress me more scantily than I was comfortable with, make jokes about my rebellious hair as she styled it gorgeously, and was amazing at make up. She dressed like a pin-up almost every time she went out.
She could do funny voices and had a boisterous laugh. I miss her laugh most of all.