graveyard

it hurts to look back

my brother, jimin, wasn't a mysterious person. he was kind, loyal, and brave. he obtained qualities most people only dreamed they owned. jimin was a fairytale in my eyes— for a short while, of course.

because he was older than me, and because we did everything together, i had learned many lessons for such a young age. i was able to analyze his mistakes and learn how to not repeat them. this was a great advantage of my behalf as i grew up, especially all on my own.

i was used to being alone. i had grown accustomed to the feeling. i found this to be simply ironic, because my worst fear in life was that very thing. i didn't want to be alone, though the feeling was all i've ever known.

i spent too many nights screaming at him when i was home alone, as he sat on the couch almost weightless taking it all in. i spent too many nights dreaming about him, running through a field of daisies with him, only for him to fall off the face of the earth when i needed him the most.

i understood everything happened for a reason. i was a strong believer in this very statement. we were brought into this strange world, and we would leave when we were needed to.

i never understood why he left, and what that meant for me. i never understood why i didn't go along with him when neither of us had a seatbelt on, and we shared the same seat. perhaps if we had switch sides, would there be a different outcome?

i thought the outcome was unfair. i thought everything was unfair. i hated him for laughing at me, when i couldn't even remember what his laughter sounded like. i couldn't remember what mine sounded like. i felt alone because, ultimately, i was