Dear Jack,

What the hell, you're about to be a junior in high school...that seems completely impossible. I know you've heard people tell you that at least ten thousand times by now but don't be fooled by the cliche, repetition is not a coincidence. It's always been invisible to me, our aging, and perhaps that is for the best, but now that I'm sitting here in my half-packed bedroom about to leave for college, it's suddenly so clear. We're not kids anymore, are we? I hate to be the one to stroll down memory lane for longer than I have to, but everyone keeps telling me that this summer, the summer before I really hit the ground running towards my future, is the best opportunity for reflection, be that positive or negative. I know you've never really been the sentimental type, but bear with me for a just a few paragraphs here. I have a lot to say and so little time left to say it...

I consider myself one of the luckiest people around to be able to watch you grow up. I'm not gonna lie, being the older sibling isn't necessarily a piece of cake but it's so, so worth it. I distinctly remember sitting in a classroom towards the end of 7th grade, almost exactly halfway through those wretched middle school years that you and I both consider the "Dark Ages," and thinking to myself,"Oh my god...Jack is going to have to go through this hell-hole, too." The idea of you having to deal with similar hardships crushed me. Little did I know that you would face an entirely different whirlwind of pain than me.

You never had it easy. I watched you crumble so many times, and I would beat myself up over the fact that there was nothing I could do to help you. Kids can be so, so cruel, and I will never understand why that is. You took it. You took it and never fought back. You showed more strength in those two years than I will ever be able to muster in a lifetime, and for that, I am so proud of you. I am so proud for so many different reasons: from really monumental things like conjuring up the courage to continue putting yourself out there and trying to make new friends even when your old ones stabbed you in the back over and over again, to smaller achievements like getting a much higher accumulative GPA than mine. I wish I could tell you just how much I look up to you (you are a good 5 inches taller than me...) but honestly Jack, I don't think it's possible. I have learned more from you, more than any other experience that I can think of, and that's saying a lot. I watched you carefully piece yourself back together after it seemed like this world was so dead-set on destroying you.

I know that this is a lot to take in right now because I haven't always been the best at verbalizing just how much I love you. This summer has been filled with days spent anxiously mulling over the terrifying thought of not being in the same timezone as you and potentially missing out on more incredible moments in your life, even though I know it's just part of me growing up. And I know you're growing up just like I am, and I've been trying to cope with that thought, I really am. It's just so much harder than I ever imagined it could be. I mean, we’ve spent so many summers in this same house, 17 to be exact, and it's time I face the fact that maybe at some point, without me even noticing, I grew too big for these walls. I've been thinking a lot lately about all of those summer days you and I spent in my stuffy little car, your feet propped up on my dashboard, blasting "throwback jams" and singing at the top of our lungs while probably driving way too fast. I start to tear up when I think about never driving you to school again and how I'll even miss our short-tempered, cold winter morning bickering when the heating wouldn't turn on quick enough, sending the both of us into a terrible downward spiral of angst and annoyance. I know for a fact that I'm going to miss the hell out of hearing you belt some song from Les Miserables or Frank Ocean's newest record and how your voice can be heard throughout the entire house no matter where you are.

I remember going to the movies with you this summer, exhilarated to finally see the new "Ghostbusters" film we had been talking about for ages. I remember standing there, watching you put the exact amount of salt and white cheddar seasoning that we both adore on our shared popcorn bucket, and I was suddenly overcome by this heaviness in my chest as I thought about how nobody else on this entire planet knows me and my tastebuds this well. I knew this would be the last movie we went to see together before I left. The salt coated our mouths like those hours coated our summer, disguising so much we wanted to say with moments that were too beautifully familiar to be true.

I don’t know if this makes any sense, but I have never felt more scared then the time you burst out in excitement because Kanye announced that he was coming to our town, and you looked at me and back at the tour date and back at me again with silent eyes. I think we both remembered in that very moment a looming day that we had both been putting off: we both knew that I wouldn't be able to see this concert with you because, for the first time in forever, I won't be here. I know this sounds stupid, and I will probably be the only one of us crying when we are forced into a goodbye, but my new "home" won't feel like "home" without you-- those moments that make my real "home" feel like I don’t ever want to leave. For you, the house will be the same as it had always been before everything happened at once. This house will be the home we both know and love dearly but this time you will be all alone in the basement we once shared and my little olive-green bedroom at the end of the hallway will stand dark and empty.

I don’t want this summer to end. I can never seem catch the glory days before they’re gone, but this time I somehow managed to catch them just as we were watching them fly by our eyes. I can’t wait to be nostalgic for these days but for now I'm going to hold onto those moments in that car with your phone plugged into the AUX chord at max volume, miles of pavement ahead of us, and you. You with one foot on the seat, the other on the dash, and me. Me with one foot already halfway out the door. I know you can’t wait for me leave so you can finally get that attention I've robbed you of over this past year with all of this college planning and whatnot, but I think I can.

So please, let's just listen to one more song or one more album or whatever we have to do. I don’t know. I guess what I'm saying is that I’ll miss you. I'll miss you more than I can say. I guess we both grew up too fast or something. Maybe this was our second try. Maybe we’ll get more. I really hope we do.

I love you I love you I love you,

Avery.