The Truth Embarks a New Beginning

"Brother"

I re-read the poems I wrote to you once.

The ones I keep locked up in an archive full of memories.

and while guiding my way through bookshelves of depression and piles of broken hearts I found one particular tune of melancholy I never thought I would play again.

And I remembered what it felt like to lose you.

How the song created waves, powerful enough to cause the earth to shatter and tears to stop midway along the lifeless cheeks of my mother.

And I remembered how I couldn't bare to walk in your room and hold your hand, because at the end of the day, the darkness which accompanied you was the only thing that didn't feel forced and alien.

I played the melody in my head on repeat.

In doing so I dissociated from the present and found myself staring into your distant eyes.

I heard your screams again.

I heard you hitting your head, punching the walls, and begging for your life to end, praying to a God you never believed in that He would end your contingency.

And at one point I heard a lone piano.

You allowed me to see how broken you were, I saw how you begged not to be sent away.

you needed someone to believe you were as sane as the rest of us.

And the chorus started again.

The agonizing screams, locked doors, and open-aired questions on whether you were still alive.

I saw how you broke us.

We lost you the day you truly believed you were at fault for our suffering.

And the song ended.

You were born in the midst of a dysfunctional ticking time bomb of a family.

You became a shell of the happy boy I once knew, and over the years you've rebuild the broken walls with plasters of freedom,

But I can't get that lone piano out of my head.

Because knowing how you'd break sometimes I'd ask you if you still wake up screaming at the top of your lungs begging for your pain to stop.

And knowing the answer when you sarcastically tell me you don't beg but wait, I still stare into that young boy's eyes and hold his hand as tight as I can to let him know how much I love him.

I've never let you read the poems I wrote you once,

because at the end of the day, I would rather be the one living through them again, than have you suffer.

Because I've you lost you once, and I can't bare to lose my brother again.