the existence of you should not strike fear into my still, beating heart
for you are not a product of the sins your brother's ****** hands carved,
yet, i cannot help, but recall the touch you and i miss, forced over my body and my mind, with the reminder of his suicide,
when i see your name;
and it may be that you feel his loss, once again,
or wish to forget how you solemnly shared with me,
in the halls where we cried until we were emptier,
and the edges of reality blurred into our tears,
with our shallow, shaky breaths,
that i was his closest confidant
when you see mine.
a secret letter
to the sister
of my late, best friend
who shared the title of my abuser
[ p.s: i'm sorry i struggle to keep in touch ]