I have a brother just a few years older than me. Zico, as he always likes me to call him but I never do call him that.

People tell me that my brother had been a wonderful person, but I always correct them sternly and say ,"Zico definitely is a wonderful brother." There is always a tinge of sympathy as I stare right into their eyes with a slight defiance and I know what each and everyone of them are thinking, it's always the same. Poor boy who can't get over his brother's death. Poor boy who lost his dear brother. Sometimes I cry and other times I don't because I'm too tired.

Occasionally there will be the few that do understand, but most of the time I receive insincere pats on the shoulder and supposedly comforting words that may or may not have hidden meanings. Call me unrealistic. Call me delusional. Call me weak. But never try to take my brother away from me. I lost him once and I don't need that constant reminder so I keep him close to me. In my heart that is, because as much as I hate this, like a little kid parting from his favorite playground, I know in the back of my head that he is gone for good. I'm depressed, yes, but I'm really not that stupid. Occasionally I forget that he's gone but when I wake up from that dream I wish to keep it all back.

You might think we had a close relationship like those beautiful bromance scenes but honestly our relationship had been sour right from the start. We were both hanging of the cliff clinging on the same narrow weak branch that was ready to snap. I wish we had heard the gradually loudening creaks of the branch we were weighing down without much thought. Or maybe I would rather not hear the screams of horror as the branch groaned loudly for the last time and gave way.

But really though, we saw nothing wrong with this at first and I hate myself now for not doing anything to patch it up. So with the wear and tear, the hole between us grew and soon I felt it was too late to salvage anything and gave up entirely. I might have been able to do something but I shouldn't linger too long  on the might have and maybes because it's going to be harder to forget. Each time I think about the different possibilities, new waves of regret and guilt come crashing and I'm left stranded on my own, gasping for air.