Where'd you go and put my strings?

I was looking at old photos to upload to flickr yesterday. Normally I classify old as not in the past year. But then I realized what it was I was looking at. They were photos from a high school musical production. So I tried my very best, with all my might to remember what I was doing then...but all I could remember was my sister's life.

I remember that she and I had matching pairs of jeans from Express and I always wore mine with a white and green shirt or some obscure children's t-shirt that I discovered while tilling the mines of Salvation Army. A blue one with a bus on the front that read "tumblebus". It had stars shooting out from it. All I wore was my camera around my back, it's only form of solidarity was resting on my neck. I remember that I didn't like it when my friends told me I looked like a boy.
All only because of photographs.
My sister was busy and loved Mr. Stewart. She worked all the time and was silly, rarely. A lot of her free time was spent at Vince's house, on his couch or in his room. It was a dark brown leather couch that looked like it belonged in the New York City Library. Sometimes all of us and some of his friends would go up to the loft until early in the morning. I bet she was really lonely, a lot. But a lot of people liked her; she was on the pom-squad and is a very good dancer. I don't know how she balanced her life. I really like her.
All because of perception.