I lay sick with fits of tears.
Concussion of the heart.
I walk around to shake it off.
It only makes it worse.
To pretend.
To try to be happy while my brother endures excruciating pain.
Yes, it is my birthday tomorrow.
But I wish it weren't.
Because I don't want to be happy for a long time.
Not until his bones heal.
Not until his mind heals.
Brother, if you can hear me:
I would give anything for you to feel better.
I'm so sorry that I can't be with you.
I gave my birthday money to mom so she could fly down there.
To see you, and thank the man who pulled you out in the nick of time.
I know I always wanted to see you cry.
For all the years you bullied me.
But now I want nothing more than for you to stop crying.
Because you don't get hurt.
Not my big brother.
Not you.
I know I always said I hated you.
But I don't.
I love you.
I love you so, so, so, so much, Clyde.
More than you will ever know, I love you.
Mom told me not too long ago, about when we were little.
She said that no matter what you did, I still defended you.
And when you were punished, my heart broke for you.
I remember crying, when you would sneak out.
When you did drugs.
When you went to jail.
Because you're so amazing.
Your soul is beautiful, to me.
I have always been there for you.
No matter what you put me through.
I will always be there for you.
And I will not let you down tonight, or any other night.
I will fight for you, and make sure you're in good hands.
**** me to Hell if I let Dad so much as look at you again.
You'll be okay soon, I promise.
I love you, goodnight.