You didn’t know him, then. He had eyes that glimmered but could be as dark as coal if he desired. I was never his equal, not in my eyes, as he wove words and charm and fire and love and hate and all the rest besides. We talked for so many years, and perhaps it was the fire dying in his eyes that made me tire before my time. I didn’t always love him, but the rage and jealousy was always good for me – it improved my art, and I like to think that in reverse I also played my part. His words were so much sweeter when he knew that he was beaten.
You didn’t know him, then. You would never have believed it. He was full of confidence, although, okay, maybe a little bit conceited. My brother, sharing cigarettes in the rain, one after another. We matured together, maybe, growing from one dream to another before we grew apart and got lazy. I remember him, by my side, never quite trusting, but always something to believe in. He made a power play only when I left the gate unbolted, it was okay – if I’d wanted to, it was something that I could have halted.
You didn’t know him, then. He could set fire to stars and make everything seem possible. As we compared scars I’d apologise and he would smile and do likewise, we were always pushing one another, uneasy allies but Dear God, he needed me and he knew I needed him.
You’ll never know him now. Maybe you’ll not know me. We are so different since the fire died, you see. I grow fat and nervous and my eyelids close easily – he has nothing left to say, and pathetically, carefully chooses his clothes to match his own shade of dreary. We speak often, but it’s never more than a salutation, empty words and valediction.
I’ll never get him back, and just as my brother’s gone, I find I also lack much of the energy and drive that I used to see. Kept me alive but no longer than necessary. I guess it’s ‘Goodnight, and thanks for the memories’.
He’s a waste and there’s not much chance left for me. We’ve both decayed and we’re not what we used to be.