For as long as I have drawn breath, I have had my brother. We have a family with step-kids, who I love like my own. But I’ve always had my brother. He lived through what I lived through, I could look into his eyes and see the same pain, or the same joke, or opinion.
When we were little I was a pain in his rump. I wasn’t a terrible kid, but I wasn’t as nice to him as I wish I would’ve been. He is mine afterall.
I am now in the throes of yet more drama with him and I feel awful. Low, down in the dust… I want to cry and stomp and make him see inside my heart, to see the me, the little one deep inside. The one that wouldn’t hurt him. But he doesn’t see it and that hurts big.
Relationships are hard.
