Tear Soaked Pillow

I press my face into cotton—


silence,


soaked again in questions.


You—always just out of reach,


a lighthouse blinking for ships


you never knew were sinking.

I watched you hate the world


with wounded hands,


praying for its downfall.


I read how much you loved it—


it gave you opportunity,


freedom—


while mine curled around emptiness,


seeking shelter


in the shape of your shadow.

I made poems from your footsteps,


songs from your memory.


I needed you to see me—


not as a burden,


but a mirror.

I learned to covet love


in your absences,


found comfort


in pretending you looked back.

Still, I sleep beside


a brother-shaped ache,


praying your memory


might hug me,


if only in dream.