I Was Once a Sunflower

My Dead Brother

The brother I grew up with?
He's gone.
Dead.

What a weird feeling to type that out.

I have no tombstone for him-
No grave to visit-
Just the memory of the
Blond-headed little boy
Who tried to protect me.

"I have 2 siblings- a little sister who is alive and well ... and an older brother who is gone"

Weird.

Some days I cry for no reason, it feels.

Some days I don't even remember.

Some days, he is in my phone memories.

Some days, he is in my memories and those days? They are the worst ones.

People who knew us growing up-- all in shock.

People who know me as an adult, they don't understand.

I lived a very specific form of hell, I was raised in a very "Pretty on the Outside" type of cage. And he lived that with me. Every day. We survived it, together.

He knew my hell better than anyone else alive, and now there is only me.

I'm alone in that, now.

I'm "The One Who Survived" now and it's fucking disgusting.

I didn't want to be the one to beat the odds. Never wanted to be the one who broke the cycle and lived and fought and clawed until she did. And if I had to be, at the very least I was glad to not have to do it alone.

And yet; here, I am
And yet; here, you are not.

I never even got to say goodbye
I'm not even sure you deserve one.
But I think my heart, the little version of me that still exists somewhere, needs it.

So this is goodbye.

Thank you for saving my ass growing up.

And sincerely, from the bottom of my heart,

I hope you rot in hell.