The tears we shared together.
The electrifying hug that lasted forever.
The uneasy stare that could not be any shoddier,
because of the explanation following honesty, that was needed to fill
her.
It was genuinely the most difficult moment I have ever experienced.
It was leisurely letting me digest.
This made me influenced,
somehow good and bad.
Because of my heart, it gave me a mark on my chest.
Oh Michael, how come you did not tell me of the dreadful news before.
She is pregnant, feeling desperate for help, and what I think she needs
is a door.
A door of help and care.
Someone to travel his hand through her hair.
With you gone, she is not fully safe.
She needs someone like you who is skillful and brave.
She told me how old her unborn baby is, and it is a boy.
We spoke about how wonderful her baby will become, and I was switching her mind to joy.
The baby is five months old now. The doctor told us he will be born in three.
But, we kept on talking about you
and me over a nice cup of tea.
"How did you two meet", she asked.
"We were both in the same unit in the army", I answered.
"I bet you two... couldn't handle the heat", she asked.
'Yeah, but it was mostly lonely", I answered.
"James, tell me something about him. How was he like with you", she asked.
"Oh Lara, he was the bravest man I have ever met and he was no fool", I honestly answered.
"There were moments we had to make tough decisions", I began.
"Tell me James, tell me one of
his missions", she demanded.
"It was a choice between a little girl, and a dangerous rare weapon that a terrorist group possessed", I replied.
"Michael had a clear shot and saved the girl who was securely caressed".
Her heart was still full of turbulence, in a silent way.
Her mind was growing dolefulness,
day by day.
'Tell me more", she said, beginning to be calm.
Her eyes were stern.
Her silence, long.
"There was a moment I had to take care of his wound", I replied.
"Hope died".
"What do you mean", she was confused.
"After stitching him, he already lost a lot of blood", I said.
"I failed to stitch him in time. I was such a dud".
"Then what", she wondered, curious.
"Hope was on my side, like a furious warrior on the way to help me, on the way to give me that desperate key.
He survived.
My hope revived",
ending my sentence.
As I was tempting to take the last sip, I realized I finished it.
As she poured me another one, I recognized the sparkling wit:
An elegant woman,
most probably resilient.
I took my first sip from my second cup, then sauntered to the restroom.
Well, just to try to separate my mind from her side of gloom.
Eventually, I began talking to the mirror.
I was asking myself, "what should I do now, that could make my life
clearer".
It was too difficult not to cry the last time I visited your grave.
I did not. Then, I told you that she needs someone like you, who is skillful and brave.
I splashed my face with the water, dried it, and came out.
She was there,
in front of me,
staring at me,
precariously,
thinking about something deep,
no doubt.
She was twenty centimeters away
from me.
"Do you think we should be to together. I mean, don't you see", she asked.
I did not know what to do.
I was uncertain.
I was stuck in this unexpected moment, and I did not know its burden.
Fifteen centimeters, and already aroused.
I just looked deep into her glittering eyes, and accepted that the moment will not be loused.
Ten centimeters...
"Lara", I became frightened.
"Yes", she said exquisitely.
"Are you sure about this, about what you're doing right now", I asked,
however, also hesitant.
Five centimeters...
I could not believe I was in that moment.
I was not sure if I should
own it.
Our lips touched, and it created something breathtaking.
With both of our hesitations, we felt something... horrifying.
It was great shame. No, it was guilt.
I should not have kissed her,
but I think something between us
has already been built.
However, a few seconds after detaching my lips from hers, I felt this was definitely wrong.
It was the guilt inside of me that was ready to explode,
like a bomb.
We queerly apologized to each other.
I said goodbye, a few words of luck, and stepped outside after realizing I have made an enormously ridiculous mither.
YOU ARE READING
I Miss You Brother And I'm Sorry
PoetryA brother died fighting. His name was Michael. The other brother, James, had to go talk to his wife, Lara, to give her gruesome news about her husband. He had to give her those concerning words. They both spoke about what he and Michael dealt wi...
