brothers in harms

My brother turns twenty tomorrow… ever been so acquainted with a room you could find your way through it in the dark? It’s sometimes scary to think he knows me that well. I’ve never written about him. He deserves a better writer. He cries never for himself but for the world that never summed up for him. The man I’ll always admire but I never want to be. To be cursed with a clear conscience is not something I’m not man enough to live up to. His conscience was so loud it suffocated me. Right and wrong so clearly cut. Leaving no space for selfish interpretation. I’ve always been a disappointment to him. Sometimes he hides it sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes I feel he’s tied down then again maybe I’m too blinded by my own mind. I still remember the day I opened the door to our room and found him crying as he sang “aerials” aloud. He’s as messed up as me but he has the class to not rave about it like I do. “The world might be messed up and fucked up but I’d rather be in it, I’d rather be in it” he sticks up for me, cries for me, fights for me, picks up after me but never dies on me. Hopes that someday I’ll be the man I want me to be. I love him. I love him and all the people stuck inside him. Anger, loyalty, hope, resolve, faith, fucked up hair, baby face, power, class, depth, dimples, love, care, intellect, sadist, chauvinist, romantic, stubborn. Throw in some rock music and some dirty underwear and poof you’ve got my brother. Do I not show him my love often enough? He told me once “the whole point of friends is that you get to take them for granted” love you broff couldn’t have asked for a better best friend. Happy birthday and fuck you muuuah