Dear brother,
I really wished I could tell you something that would make you smile, no matter where you are right now, but I can't. I wished what I'm about to tell you was a love story, but I guess you were right every time you told me that love didn't exist. You know I always thought that it didn't apply to me. That I was the exception and that there was a great love story out there just waiting for me, but I guess I was wrong.
So what I'm about to tell you is no fairytale love story that you see on the big screen, it's just your naΓ―ve little brother thinking that what he has is love, when in reality I am just a puppet on a string, willing to do anything just to see her smile. Willing to let her walk over me just for the moments she made me feel like I was flying. And I really thought I was doing all that, because I was in love.
But you were right, brother.
Love doesn't exist.
[warnings: mention of suicide/death and mental illness, use of drugs]
"you left me, cal. after everything you'd said, after every promise, you left me without even saying goodbye," my words knock the wind out of him. he doesn't know what to say, what to do. but even so, he stares into my eyes, reminding me of everything i left behind.
my final words leave him breathless and heartbroken, maybe even more heartbroken than I was when I found out what he did to me.
"how could you do that to me?"
...
old habits die hard.