When you first started doing it,
I didn't understand.
You were happy,
for the first time in a long time,
your raging temper subsided
into a hue of mellow emotions,
and I was happy for you.
But then, you began to forget
simple things like
you were supposed to pick me up
I waited half an hour for you in the rain,
and then walked the 10 kilometres home.
My clothes sopping wet,
my skin numbed blue,
still it could not compare to the chilling ache
my soul felt for you.
The first time I got picked on,
I had to restrain you from tearing apart the bully.
Yet when I came home with bruises on my cheeks,
you gave me that half-eyed smile,
and I knew you didn't care.
You'd forgotten how.
And so we drifted through the years,
my family and I clung to each other
to cope with the loss of our brother.
Being without you
was like walking through the forests back home,
where the vastness of the trees create a dome
where no sun shines through.
I wandered the trails of depression and heart-ache alone for so long.
But then, through the leaves,
little patches of light sprinkle the earth,
and if I keep my eyes on them
it helped me realize that no matter how dark things were
you were still out there,
You told me you loved me.
You told me that in some tiny part of your heart,
you always thought we'd find our way back to each other.
I never wanted to believe it was too late.
It's been nine years now
since I've seen you sober,
and the hardest part
isn't when you're high.
It's not being able to tell the difference anymore,
it's knowing that
you are still alive,
but you're never coming back.
And we still love you, my family and I,
we bruise together in our hopes,
our arms outstretched for the moment you stumble
so that we can catch you,
but we've become weary.
We are crumbling like ancient statues.
Because waiting for you
is like waiting for a plane to come
in a place with no where to land.
Oh my brother, I wish you knew
how much I miss you.
I stopped wandering the woods
looking for you.