My sister is the one I miss the most. We had been close our whole lives, barely ever apart until now. She is my junior by just over a year but a lot of the time she feels older than me, sometimes as old as the universe itself. It seems to me as though she will never die. As a dead person myself, my sister is also the one I look for the most as I spend my days up here by the Great Window. Sometimes she is almost invisible, and I have to squint hard to see her hazy form amongst the millions of others meandering across the Window’s pearly surface. At times she flickers like a phantom and I fear that I will lose sight of her completely. But I don’t, I never do. I wondered at first if I wouldn’t be able to distinguish her shape, but I found I could practically straight away. Amidst the endless floating currents of the other auras, there she was. My sister appeared to me as rosy in colour, with hints of orange and red like a new sunset. The first time I saw her I broke down in sobs; it was always how I imagined my sister’s soul to be. It is beautiful. Perfect, even. I was told later that those you love are always easiest to see. Each day, my devoted eyes follow her, seeing her colour at times slowly deepen and flourish, and at others fade until my heart constricts with worry. Every time I look, however, she is there, as I like to think she will always be. Though I know it’s against the rules, I sometimes reach out and gently touch her little aura as it swims across the Great Window. Fleetingly, her colour blooms and she seems to me just like a piece of real sunset, warm and strong, and my heart nearly breaks with the desire to be with her on Earth again. In these moments I close my eyes and can almost hear her breathe. It is a steady sound, constant, everlasting.