From 5/2011
I'm not sure exactly when I started to look at you as more than a brother. It must have been during one of your trips, and one day you returned, and my heart skipped a beat. Once you got over your shock at how much I'd grown, you held me and my chest ached. I didn't realize at that point how wrong this feeling was.
I went through my entire revolution without realizing exactly what I felt for you, without understanding this horrible wrong that I was committing, that I loved my brother, my guardian, the man who raised me, as more than kin.
France explained some things to me. You know, the birds and the bees and what not. It still didn't click in my head. I still didn't realize how I felt about you.
Maybe I didn't love you back then and I'm just getting confused about when this shit-fest started. Would it surprise you to know that I'm not sure when this began?
I finally realized that I was in love with you in 1901. It was at the opening of the Pan-American Exposition, and dozens of other nations were there, but you weren't. When I thought about how much I wanted to see you, wanted to hold you, that's when I realized that I loved you, my former brother.
I've dreamed about you. I've had so many horribly beautiful dreams about us being together. When I wake up with my sheets stained and the feel of your kisses on my lips, I am filled with disgust and shame. How can I say that I'm a hero when I violate the man who raised me in my dreams?
Do you remember how I kept my distance during WWI? I joined your side, but I was separate from the Allies. You remember how long it took me to join for sure. Having to see you so much, having you lecture me like an older brother would, it hurt and healed me at the same time. We were supposed to be family, you're supposed to be disappointed in me and try to mold me in your image, or something. I'm not supposed to love you like this.
I've tried to get rid of it. I've tried so hard. But no matter what I do, my heart always belongs to you.
Maybe you didn't hurt my heart when you burned D.C., maybe you stole it. I've thought of you in that uniform and hated myself for it afterward.
WWII. You think I came late to that one too. I wanted to get involved. I wanted to rush in and save you and sweep you up in my arms, but I couldn't do that because you were my brother. When we celebrated victory in Europe and everyone around us was kissing and hugging, I held back. You even hugged me, a rare smile on your face. It would have been easy to kiss you and pass it off as being drunk on victory. It would have been easy to take advantage of that moment.
The worst part of this is that I can't stop loving you. You, the man who raised me! I've taken lovers to my bed, men and women, it doesn't matter. I see you. Whether I'm with a blond or a brunette, light or dark-skinned, I see you. I lie back and think of England, just like Victoria said to. She'd be disgusted to know how I've corrupted that phrase by applying it to my near-kin.
You don't see me as anything other than a brother either, so there'd be no point in even trying to be with you. To you, I'm still that innocent little boy running barefoot through the wilderness. I'm still the kid who thought your cooking was the best food in the world and played with the toys you made for me. You don't see the horrible sin I carry, my awful longing for you.
France keeps making jokes about us, and I've tried to ignore it, I avoid reading the atmosphere in those situations, but I can only take so much. Doesn't he realize how wrong this is? Maybe he's just mocking us to hurt you. I don't know.
Canada says I should try talking about it with you, that maybe you love me too, and we can work something out. He's wrong though. You wouldn't fall to such a horrible sin as to be in love with your brother, former or otherwise. You're not weak like that. Like me.
–
France raised a glass of wine to his lips and took a sip, all the while watching his companion chug another glass of ale.
"So, Angleterre," the Frenchman began, not for the first time, "why do you let the past get between you and Amérique? The way you two look at each other it is obvious you're in love."
England placed his empty glass on the bar with a firm thud. "It's not me," he muttered. "It's him." He turned his gaze to the Frenchman. "He's the one that can't let go. He still sees me as his older brother, and nothing I do will get past that. Ever." England paused, a look of regret growing on his face.
England cursed softly as the Frenchman watched him attempt, yet again, to drink away his disappointment.
Author's notes:
The Pan-American Exposition - A world's fair held in Buffalo, New York, U.S. in 1901. President William McKinley was shot at the exposition on September 6th. He died of his wounds eight days later.
WWI - U.S. units were not allowed to be broken up to reinforce British of French units.
"When you burned D.C." - During the War of 1812 the British army occupied Washington D.C. and set fire to many public buildings, including the Presidential Mansion.
"Lie back and think of England" - A saying credited to Queen Victoria. It basically means that you have to suffer to support the country.
This is a very old story, my writing has greatly improved since. I'm uploading it here for archival purposes. Please keep that in mind before offering constructive criticism.