Never had my own favorites of anything.
Never blazed my own trail out of originality.
Everything I did, it was for you.
You favorite color was red.
My favorite color was red.
You dreamed of flying.
I dreamed of flying.
You wanted to be a goalie.
I wanted to be a goalie.
You wanted to go to a private school.
I wanted to go to a private school.
I could go on forever.
All that I ever wanted was to be like you.
You were so smart, without having to try.
You can play the guitar, without having to try.
You could help dad with any project, and know exactly what you were doing.
There were so many things about you that I aspired to become
My big brother, why are you gone?
Yesterday, when Michael got home from school he was upset. When I was in his room, he looks at me with a quivering lip and says, "Andrew died. He is dead."
"Yes. He is."
"Why?"
What am I supposed to say?
"He was sick, Michael. He's in Heaven now."
"Like Grandpa?"
"Like Grandpa."
I could die in that moment.
There's a hole in my heart, as I bleed out all of this pain.
The only thing keeping me here is that I'm alive,
and that's the most I've felt over these last few days.
Just tell me you're okay.
I need a sign
but when I sit in my room
the orange walls feel emptier than they did before.
There's no life left in that room
it's as if when you took your last breath,
you sucked it all up
swallowed,
and left the room empty.
These few hours of sleep haven't been comforting me at all.
I stay up until I wake up and it's another morning.
This isn't how we should have come together.
And I pray to you, and to this 'god' we all talk about
that I can meet with you once more in my dreams.
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