Hi. It’s me.
I know it’s been a while. Things have changed, and so have we. Well, maybe you didn’t. Maybe you just look different from another angle, even beyond your graying hair, your leathery skin, and your flannel worn with dust from work.
I look different, too. I’ve got a new name, for starters. That’s new. I’m also not pretending to be a boy anymore, but I’m not sure that you’d take my word for that.
We met eyes once, and in that moment, shocks ran up and down my spine. I saw the jolt run through you as well, or at least I thought I did. Maybe I hoped you were as terrified as I was, longing for a shared emotion just one more time. Something we could have in common to mix the blood of the covenant with the water of the womb, granting some sort of legitimacy to what should be a given bond.
And yet, whether that is the case or not, it doesn’t matter. The you that I remember is gone, if he ever even existed. In one fleeting moment, I had played Lucifer to you, falling from grace so suddenly and becoming an outsider.
I saw your true face.
Four years. That’s how long we’ve left our bond of silence unbroken. Cold looks at functions, and painful nights spent wondering whether I’ll speak to you one more time before you die. Four years.
A small part of me wants to yell at you, to grab you by the shoulders and give one last shaky scream to try and break through. I know it wouldn’t work, but but closure is all I want, and all I fear. I want to close the page on you and admit to myself that the family member I knew never existed. I want to leave you behind, evicting you from my mind forever.
And if you were to die today, tomorrow, or in a year, I would still cry.
I would be crying for the death of someone who might not even exist, despite the insistence of our family. You taught me so many things that I carry with me to this day, and for that, I’m thankful. I carried so much love for you in my heart, and in spite of the pages being torn and frayed, your name is still written in it.
Perhaps that’s all we really do have in common these days? I know you long for the person you thought I was, and he never existed. A girl was in his place, and you long for me to once again become somebody who never even existed.
And when you’re on your deathbed, should you die first, we will both be mourning. I won’t be there, because I’m not mourning you.
I’m mourning the halcyon image of a you who never existed.