I have everything.

I have a family whom I cherish, despite not being blood related. The mother that raised me as his son is now grateful to see she has not done wrong. I love her smile in the morning. No sun can brighten the day more than her. I cry when she cries, silently sobbing in the corner of my room because it hurts to know there is nothing I can do to stop her tears. I want to tell her that things are always going to be better – she showed me that is true the moment she picked me up from Hell and gave me another life. Unfortunately, a good deed may be the worst in the eyes of some. The day my mother was taken to the police section, I felt my heart drop inside my stomach’s acid, slowly being consumed as I died. It’s hard choking on salty water that sprung out of my eyes. So I stood there, helpless and confused. That’s when he came. He kneeled in front of me and asked if I’m alright.

Of course I wasn’t. But why should I tell him? We have been arguing since day one. A tragedy doesn’t unite people. It bonds them for a split second before they return to their daily activities and habits. So why should I act different? Why should he?

But he didn’t. He really didn’t. He grinned the same as always, slapped my arm as always and I couldn’t help but laugh.

And I laughed. And I kept on laughing.

He joined me.

The evening suddenly didn’t feel as cold, as empty – he was there.

I have friends. One of them shared the same DNA as mine. Science hasn’t always been my strong point, but I do know that made us special. He was my brother and I sometimes still feel weird for not knowing earlier. It was as if a part of me had gone, but I didn’t notice until it returned. And now that it was back, it felt like an intrusion at first. How dare he try to come closer to me using that excuse? I remember nothing of what used to be before we had been separated by fate.

Huh, that’s stupid.

Destiny had nothing to do with it.

It just happened under circumstances that allowed us to be away from each other and then somehow meet once more when we were older. And high-school is just a tough environment that forced us to either continue walking on parallel paths or intersect through a common interest. We bickered and shared a couple of punches. In the end, we shrugged it all off and once more stood together facing the same horizon. It was refreshing.

I guess that’s why it hurts every time I see him now. There’s no sign of the old Daniel. And I didn’t know what happened. He would never tell me things that filled his lungs and took his breath away.

He bought freesias one day. I thought that was weird, but it was one of those rare moments when he beamed again. He excitingly told me about someone new in his life, someone he couldn’t let go.

Two weeks later, the same freesias were dying in the kitchen and Daniel stared blankly from afar.

I figured that not every novelty can directly result in joy.

I have a car too. I worked hard to get my license and I like to drive it around the city. Most importantly, I like when he calls me and asks if I could give him a lift. And every time, we’d share small talks about the weather, general mood or let silence be our guide. He’d leave right away and once again shove me from his side.

I have a part-time job, I have money to spend, I have everything anybody could want. I had some relationships, short but effective, but I had those too.

So why do I feel like I don’t exist every time our eyes meet?

I have everything, yet I still yearn for him.

I’m nobody; just another withered flower he tried to take care of and then abandoned in a vase.

Heck, I think I’m worse.

I’m somebody - still there, but not worth it.