I can't bring myself to write about him, or write to him...my little brother. I think about him always...and always the same pain in my chest. I cannot write about what is happening with him. Only that I wear this basal pain like an undergarment, revealed only in the privacy of my solitude.
I traveled back to my native country, and I saw him everywhere...so many young men who reminded me of him. They looked like him, they talked like him, they moved like him, they danced like him...and I remembered. I remembered him as he was when he was like them.
He will never again be this man. He is too broken...but I remembered.
Sounds like some heavy thoughts to share with your therapist.
ReplyDeleteYes, I'm not sure why I rarely bring this topic up with him.
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