“Fighting is a necessary skill for living,” I thought.
“You’ll learn self-defense,” I said.
But he wasn’t listening.

“Movement is required for relief,” I thought.
“Take a walk with me,” I said.
But he’d already gone.

“Words provide reassurance,” I thought.
“I’ll write you,” I said.
But he didn’t read.

I knew, but didn’t want to see. External appearances of innocence can mask an internal sense of feeling like an incurable cancer. If I’d eaten ten abuse pies, then he’d had the equivalent of a storefront display. All of our shit was questionable, especially that which felt too big to be expelled. Once upon a time it was considered ironic that my brother has always been very thin, until I realized how some people eat what others appear to serve as dessert, asking for seconds and thirds based on ingredients from memory instead of relying on the flavors layering their own discernment.

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