His mother can make him cry and his little brother will always be little. He seems strong but even his bones were broken one by one. He can’t sing but remembers the words from my funeral speech. He is different, but I recognize parts of me in him. He talks to others but still pays his own drinks. He shows me his secrets and locks them away again. He tells me everything and nothing at all. He is rare and new but feels like home. He falls in but never out if love. He thought he wasn’t much but he was, after all.
Published by Josephine
Semi-personal blog. Dutch and English poetry and stories that document my life. Sincerely believes in writing as a form of therapy. View all posts by Josephine