I don't remember by brother being born but I remember the first time I saw him, it was through the fiber glass of the ICU at the children's hospital. His lungs were fucked up and had to be fixed. I don't remember holding him for the first time or the first he came home or anything about that time really. Even though I was six and six is definitely old enough to remember. Memory is made of glass. Memory is a mirror and I remember my brother in parts and pieces. His voice when it was still high-pitched. The time he stole my nailpolish to paint his own nails and wasted the whole bottle. The time I said fuck in front of him and did not realize he was old enough to understand and he was delighted. Yesterday when he asked me to hold his hand because he kept zoning out on the road. The guilt that weighs at my heart with everything to do with him. The guilt that comes with knowing he won't steal my nailpolish anymore. He turned out exactly like me which means I did not protect him like should have which means I let him down. Which means we will mirror each other and carry the same weights all our lives. I keep wondering what we will talk about when we run out of all things to talk about. The last time we will see each other will probably also be through a hospital glass. I wonder who will be on which side. I don't know the future, my brother believes neither of us will live long enough to see it. Sea levels are rising, the world is going to explode. I hope it does. I hope the world ends in the middle of a sentence and we never have to say our goodbyes.
