I consider you my sister, Tre. I hope you know that.

The one who isn’t afraid to give me the EYE.

The one who will always listen to me even when she is beyond weary.

The one who has so much endless strength to carry the rest of us that sometimes we forget that she needs attention and care too.

I can’t fully understand what you live every day. I know that. But damn if your writing doesn’t make me feel like I do.

I did six or so years in Texas. I sat at tables where my in-laws-to-be used the N word. I expect all of them have Trunp stickers on their honky tonk trucks now.

That sickened me.

But now I’m afraid.

Because my sisters are being shot while their child watches. And my mothers harassed. And my brothers killed in cold blood. Every. Fucking. Day.

One day a Medium account will go silent and I’ll be afraid to check the news.

I wasn’t afraid before. I was angry or incredulous. But it didn’t affect me. It was happening to other people in another country.

No longer.

I know it hurts for you to put this forward. And now I sense what you risk by doing so.

I don’t want to unravel what your soul needs to survive in that warzone.

It’s why I didn’t tag you in my follow up article. But I want you to know, even chin up silently facing what you face daily, you reached me. You helped change me.

Your words helped to open my heart and realize it is my loved ones under attack too.

I wish there was something I could say, some way to end this article to give you a laugh and help you put that armour back on.

Instead just know that I love you right back. And I admire you, sister. And I worry now. But I guess that comes with the territory.