I stared at my little brother, as if I was in a trance. He was hooked up to all these machines, with needles and cords stuck all over his thin, pale body. He looked so delicate, so breakable, so surreal, lying in the hospital cot, dressed in a patient's paper smock.

My brother, Nick Jonas.

The room seemed so hazy, but maybe it was just me. I hadn't slept in more than 48 hours, and I'd been pacing the hospital floors for the whole night, waiting for the nurse to let me see my brother. It was only a few minutes ago that she let me in, and now that I saw how weak he was, I didn't know what to think, what to say.

I thought of when he still had the energy to run, the energy to laugh, the energy to perform onstage with Kevin and me in front of thousands of screaming fans. Energy to laugh about the girls who tried flirting with us after the shows, when we were safely tucked inside the tour bus.

I thought of when he told me he loved me, exactly twelve months ago from today. The poor kid was so scared of what I would think. He was literally shaking when those three beautiful words, "I love you," escaped his perfect lips. I remembered hugging him, holding him close and tenderly whispering the same words back to him, my breath grazing his ear. I remembered wiping the tears off his cheeks, telling him that everything would be fine, that I loved him back and he didn't need to worry about anything. The very first time we kissed, so sweet, so soft. All the times when he came into my room at 3 AM, just to say he missed me, to lie down next to me as we wrapped our arms around each other. The time I pressed my chest against his, breathing with him, inhale, exhale, so our heartbeats matched. When we our souls became one.

I shook my head and came back to the present. It was our one year anniversary. The irony. His eyes were closed, and I would have thought he was dead; were it not for the small, feeble heaves of his chest moving up and down as he breathed. Inhale. Exhale.

I stood by his head and traced his neckline with the tip of my finger. I placed my palm on his chest, trying to feel his familiar heartbeat. It was so faint, I could barely feel it.

I closed my eyes, hand still on his chest. He inhaled. I inhaled. He exhaled. I exhaled. Our breaths became simultaneous, and our hearts once again matched, beating at the exact same times, the same exact rhythm. Our hearts beat together, sang together, as he slowly slipped away from me. A weak smile spread across his face as he opened his eyes and turned to face me. God, those eyes. The most beautiful thing I'll ever see in my whole life.

"I love you, Joe," he whispered, his fragile voice barely audible above the whirring of all the machines.

And then his heart stopped beating.