[This is an odd rambly benediction stream-of-consciousness sort of thing I wrote years ago, almost as a story of its own.  It has a simpler essence, and is possibly even abstractly coherent.]

Don’t leave your brushes stand in the water, or the anti-watercolor bleeds into their souls.  Splash, colors.  Sailing on waves of silver.  Watch as the tumbling world cracks.


Do you remember me?

Can you shuffle through those memories like sketches?  I’ll tell you: pencil in orange and bright and red and yellow and purple, deep purple from the underwater surge and an old beat-up house full of insane Monopoly games.  Please be okay.  I will not give up on you, God help me.

Do you remember me?

You can give up on someone when they are dead and gone.  You can give up and stay with them.  I made my choice, little brother, long ago.  You are not mine.  But I do not give up on you.

I don’t know if you can read the spiral of thoughts stretched across the sky in burning stars, a written script.  I can’t, the tongue of angels.  But I see it there, the sparks and laughter flung in a moment into the whirl of rhythm.  Please don’t forget to look.  Please.

Remember.  Chase the smoke signals, drifting.  Watercolour pencils and Andrew Peterson music on a green carpet floor, and stories.  Syncronized.  The sky isn’t all black, but deep blue, with lighter places, and the silent crackle of dawn-promise.

Birthday parties.  The proud smile on your father’s face when he sees you.  The way you look alike.  You belong, even when it feels like being ripped out of the sky.  Pick the right North Star; it isn’t here on the cursed dust.  Don’t run from it.

You are important.  And you are loved so much by so many, and you will always be so.  You haven’t seen your father cry over losing you.

Do you remember me?  Do you know how old and sad you have made my eyes, some days?

You didn’t laugh at the odd things I said – you were the first to teach me such people existed, and you didn’t think me an idiot when I hopped on one foot because of astrophysics, because I could no longer stand still when the world was so huge.  When the world was so huge, and you were my best friend.  We beat each other in school and on the schoolyard in the most old-fashioned blood-relation form of affection.  

Remember the last time you played at my house?  We sword fought, and I slipped on the wet grass and we all laughed.  Those were good days.  The world was huge, and we were idealists for years.  I didn’t know how to fix things, is there any person here who can fix things?  It wasn’t your fault or mine that your house cracked.

People say we look alike.  Funny, brother, how that is.  All those years chasing orcs and fighting enemy elves must have paid off.  Maybe not everything in your life was a lie, maybe there was a glimpse of rightness before the world went mad.


brother, i’m gonna be with you
until the end of the line
and you once said it too
and now look at me, i’m fine
I’m gonna be with you
until the end of the line.
though i’m in pain, i’ll see it through,
keep this promise of mine
alice marie music

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