The Way I Love You

I heard someone say once that love was worth all the pain in the world. But is it worth all this? Yes, I do love you. More than anything in this world. And it is okay for me to say it. I am meant to love you. But not this way. Not like this.

When did it start? Maybe it was when we were little. When I had a nightmare and I came to your bed. And you wrapped your arms around me and pulled me close and told me that it was ok, that the monsters couldn’t hurt me anymore. Not while you were there. You pressed your lips into my hair and I closed my eyes and soon I was asleep, and the horrors that were once behind my eyes had disappeared.

And then, when I was eleven, I came upon a monster that you couldn’t fight. I wanted to tell you, I tried. But I couldn’t. He told me that it was our secret. That you would hate me if you knew what I had done. I cried every night, wrapping my arms around myself and trying to pretend that it was you holding me. But it was he who came, he who whispered into my ear. And it was he who knelt beside me as the life flowed out of me, laughing as I sobbed your name.

After that, I didn’t come to your room anymore. He had put up a barrier between us, cemented with the taunts still ringing in my ears.

And when you asked me about her, with your face burning scarlet and your eyes gleaming, I told you what I knew you wanted to hear. You listened to me, and the next day I saw her place a kiss on your lips. My heart broke at that moment, because I knew that he had been right. You would never look at me as I looked at you. You would never understand.

I looked at myself in the mirror that night, suddenly hating what I saw. Long red hair, wide brown eyes, freckles. So much like you. I wanted to be her. I wished for bushy hair and caramel eyes and smooth, tan skin. For you to be touching me as I imagined you were touching her. The way that you would never touch me.

I tried to fill the void with other boys. They smiled and told me how beautiful I was, and I managed to hold back the tears. They asked questions and I answered. But when they came to my family, it became a little harder to breathe. And when your name was spoken, I would cut them off with one excuse or another. Their smile would falter as they reluctantly said goodnight, then leaned in closer, hope shining in their eyes. I allowed their lips to meet mine, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make myself respond. They weren’t you. It would never be you.

I accepted the fact that you would never be mine. Not in the way I wanted. You found me crying sometimes, on those few occasions when my resolve crumbled. You pulled me to you and hugged me and told me that you loved me, and didn’t even notice how I tensed in your arms. I couldn’t allow myself to enjoy your touch. I knew that when you left me, you went to her. I imagined, while I was lying awake at night, what happened when you were with her. I saw the way you smiled at each other in the morning, over your porridge and toast. It made my stomach turn. You should have been with me. Didn’t I deserve that? Why was it wrong for me to be with the one I love?

But in the end, I knew why. Because you didn’t love me the way I loved you. Because you loved her. Because she loved you. Because the world was a cruel place, and perhaps I was meant to be alone. Because when I looked into the mirror, I saw you. Altered slightly, but you all the same. Because you were my brother, and I your sister. And all the wishing in the world would not change that.