I miss you and I wish you never took that fucking needle from him. If you were here now you’d be proud. If you were here now, you might be doing well. Right when you were finally coming to terms. A fucking flu. I loved (and do still) you as much as I could ever love a man. My brother, my guardian, my gorgeous little train-wreck with a fastened smile to keep the worry away.
I don’t know why you worried so much about being skinny. Was it the drugs? I knew it was, but you didn’t want to admit it, did you? You missed the empty feeling, the thoughtlessness. Well, baby, you fucking got it. You broke your promise to your sister and you fucking got it.
If my heart didn’t ache so much, if you weren’t so embedded into my every thought process, if you weren’t dead, I’d kill you.