Dear Marcus
Dear James,

I used to write my diary entries to you. Did you know that, brother?

Obviously not. How could you? You were miles away, and I was so little I couldn't even spell your name right (Jammes, I used to write). They were nothing but a scrawl anyway. I can hardly read them anymore.

But I remember writing to you of all my hopes and dreams, all the mad things I once believed might happen. All the things I wanted to do. All the people I wanted to become.

All things I wanted to say to you in person when we finally found each other - because you were my brother, and how could I not find you one day? Adults were the bad guys who had separated us, and good always triumphed in the end...didn't it?

I'm not sure I believe that anymore. I'm not sure I believe anything. I'm sorry I haven't written to you in such a long time, not that you'd know. For the last year or so, I've been writing to Marcus instead. I suppose you already know who he is. Yesterday, he told me it was over. I nodded along to get him to move along before I started crying. And he just stared at me, like he was expecting me- like he wanted me to cry.

All the same, I can't stop thinking about him. The dark hair poking out from underneath that blue hoodie. Bluer eyes. Cheeky grin.

I was thinking about him yesterday, when I was skating with Alice. I didn't see the truck coming.

The nurse has been in and 'had a chat' with me. She says I need to be more careful in the future, that I could have been hurt. That I might have had a dangerous accident.

Maybe I will.


The End

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