Sometimes we must say good-bye too soon.
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He's going to crouch in a corner on the bathroom floor and look at all the places where the bruises linger. Then pull his hair like ugly weeds and scream until his voice is gone.
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He's going to sing lullabies to himself at night and pretend they're someone else's voice so he doesn't get lonely.
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He's going to keep a journal like a sad little boy and write the word "brother" in it a hundred times on each page until it's the only word he can define. The only word he can remember.
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He's going to stand in the rain until the water stings and hold his arms out for the lightning to embrace him. Then he's going to take out a cigarette and stain his perfectly healthy lungs black.
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He's going to walk the streets without telling anyone where he's headed and force himself to keep going until his legs feel broken and he physically cannot move.
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And on those nights when he can bring himself to face the truth, he's going to kneel at the side of his brother's bed and ask God why He allows twins to die. Then he's going to climb inside and convince himself that the pillow is his twin's body, and he's going to hug it to him until salt water leaks from his eyes and his brother's name escapes his lips and he's unable to do anything except cry himself to sleep.