Each year comes with surprises
New freedoms, new emotions, new clothes
Looking into my wardrobe reminds me of someone not in the room
Specifically my brother
Because nearly all the clothes I've ever worn are hand-me-downs
I guess that can only be expected when you have an older sibling
But his hand-me-downs never really become mine
His memories are one of the only things that linger
And the feeling of my brother's ghosts pressing against my skin is uncomfortable
In the way that feeling the tag of a shirt scratching the back of your neck is uncomfortable
I'm pretty sure the first hug I've ever received from my him was through his clothes
Not as in he hugged me with his clothes on (as he usually does)
But through a hand-me-down shirt too small for him to wear embracing my being
He has never been one to touch
His hugs are nothing more than handshakes and pats on the back
He keeps his mysteries within himself
Somewhere no x-ray machine can see through
He's convinced me that there are more organs to the human body than can be seen
But his secrets are not so much things he holds as they are parts of him
Maybe they build the organs themselves
His ghosts whisper into my ears and speak a language I do not understand
But maybe I'm never meant to know what they are saying
Maybe the ghosts in his hand-me-downs are the only parts of him I'm supposed to keep
