They are words you give over completely as gifts, handwritten, not stored in some outbox enveloped within of SMTP headers or iMessage read receipts. A few drafts rest in my notes, but otherwise, all of those words were just out there, mostly forgotten.
Once we were both old enough to write clearly, any co-signed birthday cards became a sibling competition of sorts, for who could say more in the inscription. Not that emotional sincerity had to be a competition. But of our sibling rivalries, it produced some of the best results.
I’ve ceded that competition to her husband, who is her worthy opponent and turns thirty today.