I don’t know how Alex, but you’re happy. You’re living perfectly fine with yourself. It was your birthday yesterday. How old are you now? 22? Anyhow, I haven’t seen you in a long while.
Being it your birthday, I guess the 13-year old me felt obliged to have a peek at your Facebook page,(stupid I know) and look lovingly upon the photograph I keep of you as a baby in my memory box. I saw the video you posted. rambling on about, ‘spiritual things’ penguins, the pub, and ‘pinching a fag of your missus’. I saw the small boy you claimed to be yours running about your lounge. It hurt. I feel robbed. I’m not going to lie, I wasted a good half hour bawling on my bedroom floor, wondering if I missed you, the idea of you, or just the concept that brothers can be decent.
Then I laughed. I really laughed. you’re happy and you’re relatively evil. I’m relatively nice, I can be happy. You’re not going to control me anymore. Fuck, you don’t even know that you’re still controlling me. Do you even remember me? No more.
I’m always asked what I would do if I saw you. I think I finally know the answer. Nothing. You’ll be just another stranger passing by. I’m done. I’m prepared that the flashbacks may stay. I can cope with them. But I am not wasting another moment of my life, worried about bumping into you, worried about if people are going to judge me. You enjoy your vile little life. I am no longer going to observe it. The 22-year-old man you are is no longer a part of my life. Just like I haven’t been a part of yours for the last 7 years.