By Rebekah Parise
My brother had blue eyes
He wore clothes that smelled of lavender,
And he walked fast, but always made sure
I could keep his pace.
I remember his voice, I think,
Not as well as I used to,
But I can sometimes hear it still.
I used to expect him to call,
To text me still, to show up
At the door someday.
It hurt to think he would.
But it hurts even more to
Not remember what it was like
When he would come over.
I promised him I'd always remember him,
And I do remember him, all the time
But not like I used to.
Sometimes it feels like he wasn't real.
Like he was a fictional character
In a book I really love.
I miss when he was fresh in my mind.
