Sisters

That’s us.

I look up to her in ways I have probably never properly expressed.

I think she’s beautiful. Her smile, radiating.

For the same reasons I love her, I sometimes go to war with her.

For every ounce of frustration, I’m reminded of our shared life force that only a Tomlinson woman can understand.

She taught me how to negotiate my first job offer.

She drank jager on the eve of my college graduation even though it made her sick.

We share a story of life. The same parents. The same memories.

We see that story differently. Uniquely.

Life has given her to me, before me even existed.

Life has taken us on a journey only sisters can know.

Without her, I’m just some okay version of myself.

Without her I wouldn’t know how special it is to always have her.

I’m red. She’s brown. Every so many years we get the urge to capture our evolution as women and sisters as a gift to our parents. It’s a special tradition that has no particular cadence, always makes us a little uncomfortable since we both claim to not be photogenic, but it’s also one of my favorite things to look back on. Somehow over the last few decades we both became women, with very different lives, different zip codes, and different personal styles. However, what always remains true is that we do it because we are sisters and these moments on film will always be here.