Originally exhibited at the Warehouse of Contemporary Art
Several years ago, my sister moved out and never came back. She left California to pursue her career. Often, she misses our mom and dad. And some time ago, I’m sure she missed me too.
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“It felt like I lost a brother when you stopped talking to me,” my sister says one night through the buzzing of a phone call.
And knowing what I know, I know that she’s right. If running away at the sight of hurt was a sin, then I’d be a sinner. Somewhere in Dante’s Inferno, there’d be a place for me.
