Ah, the memories.
I remembered how close we used to be, how we used to trust and rely on each other, for, no one else it seemed, was ever there more when needed.
How we used to be such good friends (the best, it was true).
How we confided our entire beings,our entire lives to the opposing person, knowing we'd be safe in such hands. Although, sometimes I debate with myself (did I trust mine in his hands more than he trusted his in mine?).
Memories.
I knew it now, and, deep down, I asked myself if he felt the same way. They were just memories. Nothing more than a thought, a reflection on a past I'd rather not even ever look back on because, when I happened to, it brought back so much pain for a reason unknown to me (I wonder if it was the same for him). The pain of a relationship so close, wrought so strongly at one time, that it hurt to think that it was destroyed by a whim of proving oneself.
My whim.
But sometimes I wondered, more often than not I've come to realize, if things could have turned out different. Maybe we could have kept that trust and reliability. Maybe we'd still be the best of friends, if not, better. Maybe, just maybe, we could have trusted our lives with the other. Maybe, but never at all likely.
In fact, it was farfetched.
The only thing stopping it all from happening, perhaps, was a form of reluctance. It would indeed be awkward, after all these years, to try and rekindle what we had. I was a murderer, one with a soul thirsting to show what potential it had, how great it was. I had spilled the blood of my lineage, annihilating so that there was but two left to carry on.
And I was contented with that.
But there was always a nagging, in the very darkest part of my conscience, that I was just fooling myself.
Then again, who is more truthful to you than yourself?
I could do without what I once had, what we once had. I do not need it to survive, to keep on going. Affection and trivial things of the sort were just that, trivial, and unnecessary. Not at all mandatory to my existence, it was blatant. I could go on as myself, for I have no regrets, and therefore must truly be contented with life now.
I do not need my little brother (to depend on a fool is the will of a dead man).
And as I look back (searching for facts, to back up the truth), I never really did.