I hate it when my sister comes to visit.

It only reaffirms my loss.

Time, pain, loneliness, emptiness.

And I remember that there will be a time when she won't come back home. And there will be a time when I leave home. And there will be a time when I won't come back home. And there will be a time when my parents won't be home.

And after all the time has passed, when the pain has increased, when the loneliness peaks, and when the emptiness remains . . . I'll have a new home.

And I'll be happy, surrounded by the people I love and perhaps know then that they don't love me conditionally, perhaps they'll understand that I love them unconditionally, perhaps we'll be a family.

But then I'll lose more on the day my children will leave home. And one day, they won't come back home. And one day, I won't be home.