There is a river that runs through my town and a wooden bridge that goes over it. It used to be where all the kids played but now its the bridge where I sit and think about drowning. I hang my legs over the edge and wonder what would happen if I just jumped. My brother jumped when I was just ten years old. I remember how terrified my mum was when the police came to our door and told us. I remember how confused I was when I heard my older brother, the one I used to sing with while he played guitar, the one that would make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when mom was at work, the one that told me to stay safe every night... committed suicide. I didn't even know what it meant. When I heard he wasn't coming back I made art that reminded me of him. I drew peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I drew guitars, I drew lilies (his favorite flower), I drew his girlfriend. I tried to draw his face. I would start drawing his face and then the tears falling off my cheeks would ruin it. I tore every page out that ended up like that. I don't know if I'll ever draw his face again. I make art to remember him. My older and only brother.
