i like to think that he's a pushy, arrogant, annoying, lazy, overzealous
part selfish, part reckless
and pseudo carefree
kind of man.
but i don't know what his favourite fruit is
or what makes him smile or laugh or cry
i don't know what makes him go weak in the knees
or the way even the most regular of sunsets stirs things inside him, if at all
i don't know what are the first thoughts he has when he wakes up
or what he likes to eat when he's so hungry his stomach is about to pop
i don't know how he spends his days, or what he does during wakeful nights
i don't know what he thinks of himself
on days that don't go so well
i don't know how often his days don't go well
i don't know why he hasn't cut his hair, even as it has been ruined by sunlight and splitends
i don't know how he learned to love and live with the girl he loves and how they make it work
i don't know what he likes to read, or wear, or do in times when nobody expects anything of him
i don't know what contentment means to him, or pain, or failure
i don't know about the things he values, the jewels he likes to store inside his heart
i don't know what he's good at, don't know how creative he is, don't know if the world's a teddy bear or a hostile thing to him
i don't know his number
i don't know whether he's a good listener, or a bad one. yeah, we don't talk much at all
i don't even know how to look him in the eye
what i've known most well, and with most certainty, is that i hate my brother. and that isn't even something about him, but myself.
i've only known his anger, his selfishness, and that's been enough so far. hating's been easy because i've wanted nothing more.
i guess people don't change until you're willing to open your eyes. and maybe even your heart.
the world really is just as small as you want it to be.