I was listening to Supermarket Flowers by Ed Sheehan just awhile ago, and it broke me. It reminded me so much of you. How little time you had and how quick you went. I remember writing you a get well soon poster made out of paper towels and my plan to sneak in the car to your hospital so that I could see you and give the poster myself. I badly wanted to see you that day, but they wouldn’t let me. If I’d known that those short four days were going to be your last, then I would’ve broken every boundary and law just so that I could see you. I could see your smile one last time instead of seeing you sick, vomiting all your food on the table, or seeing you leave the door with a handkerchief covered in your blood. Then often times I would think what you could’ve looked like if I did see you. I saw what cancer does to people now, and I imagined you looking like that. Weak, thin, and drowning in pain, then maybe I would’ve seen a more worse last image. But then maybe if I did go there, I wouldn’t mind the physical state you’re in and would just about love to see that smile again. Then again… There’s always that thought of you being ashamed of how you looked and you’d be frowning instead of smiling… I’ve accepted your death a long time ago, but I can’t accept the way it all happened.
Instead of spending my time with studying, I watch porn and stare at ceilings running scenarios in my head of “what could’ve happened?” It’s almost as if, the way I’m explaining things, is that you committed suicide. You didn’t, the cancer killed you before you got to be saved. I could blame the cancer… But sometimes I blame you for being weak. It seems so wrong for me to say that… I’ve forced myself to make you a hero in my head. When in reality we were only children with innocent minds who happened to have come from the same womb at the same time. We enjoyed each other’s company and couldn’t imagine a life without each other. We fought, but would make up in an instant. When other people fought, we were each other’s anchors. Or so I thought.,.
I was the fiery type when we were kids… When our parents fought, I would stand up to our dad and guard our mother while you cried. I’m not thinking of myself as a high and mighty one. I wish I hadn’t done those things… I often wonder what went through your head. Were you always in pain? Why didn’t you tell anyone about how you were feeling? You could’ve told me. You could’ve opened up to me and poured your heart out, but no. Even though we were twins, I didn’t know what was going on deep inside. I didn’t know who you were. I was too busy standing up that I didn’t realize you were falling down. In the end of every thought and argument in my head… All fingers point at me. I should’ve been a better twin to you. I should’ve lifted you up. But then again we were children with innocent minds… And there’s nothing I could do to save you.
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