Lake P.

It's been a year since we last talked but I spent the last week of my time with your little brother and instead of sleeping I looked at the stars, scared of how much I saw you.
It was the past I locked up in dreams and regrets and the thread came undone with a tug at simple mannerisms and genetic phrases.
It was you but it was all wrong
and I missed every second of right.

I thought I could tell you Happy Birthday.
Because you never seemed to forget.

But a simple reply and I had a spiraling staircase at my feet and for some reason I tried to walk down on my hands. No one's balance will last forever, but a girl can dream, right? And you didn't have to see the tumble or clean up the scraped knees under ripped jeans and you didn't watch your younger brother dig up our grave with jokes and patterns and a smile that is too close to the one you gave me when we danced.

"you always smile when we talk about him"

Don't tell me that. Don't you dare look me in the eyes and tell me the oceans he put between us and the years I put between our hearts didn't save something. I don't want to be rewarded with memories and rainy nights and car rides that made streets stand still.

But this isn't about the 16 year old who had earthquakes in his veins and firecrackers to throw at my feet. This is for the 19 year old who took me to Cafe Rio and asked me not to be stupid senior year and lit a match beneath my dreams with a hot air balloon ride tied to the future.

 I dreamed about your arms.
I dreamed about the way you held my hand like you were the first man on the moon and history deserved celebration. But when my eyes opened in the morning all I saw was his red shorts to match your old red jacket and a smaller wingspan with less of a history.

I think I'll write you a letter today, but only to remind you how much your mini is just like you. And how proud you should be of the person he's becoming.
And partly because I think I'd like to test my balance again.