When You Left

I could stare at that picture all day. America wearing my pirate hat while I'm wear the rest of my costume; his little head way too small for the hat. Such a wonderful young boy. Then that bloody git decides he wants freedom. He just went and left! Caused a whole bloody fucking war! He is not the Hero. If anything he's the villain. An evil monster wanting to destroy every happy moment I have. America was my pride and joy. The only thing that kept me sane when I thought everyone was against me. A sweet little boy with a great big imagination, a wonderful vision of the world, and most importantly a love for me.

I guess it all started when I would leave him alone for long periods of time. Whenever I'd come back, I'd notice there was a difference in him. I never really paid much attention to him, until he refused to wear a suit. It was then I realized that I'd done something wrong in raising him. He wouldn't wear a suit? Complained about my cooking? Said he was getting too old for my irregular visits. I could see where he was coming from there; I could visibly see he was getting older. I loved his spirit, his spunk, his personality. It was perfect for me. All I needed, yet I lost him.

When he declared independence it was the worst thing I could have ever heard. Those words coming from his mouth was pure torture. I'd lost the only one I cared about. He was my brother. The only one who used to believe me with my friends, he even used to talk to them! He lost that imagination along the way though. He lost his innocence. He lost himself along the way. I guess some of that is my fault. And yeah, I feel bad. But what he did was worse. He broke me. Tore my heart into a million little pieces and left them scattered around.

Some Hero he is. Destroying me like that. How could he? I loved him, and still love him. I just want him to come to me, and cry into my chest again because of a nightmare. I want him to trust me with everything and be there with me through everything. I want my brother back. Is that too much to ask? Is it really such a big deal? Why can't I have him back?

I see America every day, with that smile of his and those continuous hamburgers. His blue eyes shimmering. Bloody hell do I miss him. He was such a good young brother. No matter what I could count on him being happy and energetic. Nothing ever brought him down, ever. It's why I admire him so much. He doesn't care what others think; he's himself.

No matter how much it kills me to say it, I think he's independence was good for him. Not for me, but for him. He's grown into a fine young man. I just wish he would still look up at me with those innocent eyes and ask me questions of my pirate past. I wish I could have my brother again.

-England

A.N. America's part will be up soon. I hope this is good… It's 1:30(ish)am… I should really go to bed…