Ever more frequently I've begun to cry. I know that it is not a warrior's way but I do not regret the wetness on my face. I don't mind the stains they leave, though
they shouldn't even leave stains. Perhaps they are tainted, just like my blood. Those marks on the floor are the only signs of life, the only things telling the world that
I was here. The destruction of Manhattan, the wastes of Jotunheim, even the scars on your heart, that can all be repaired, fixed up so that it was never there at all, but the sorrow of my soul can never be mended. As is the way of things, you were always there to outshine even the brightest of suns, and the world loved you for it.
I was your ever present shadow, and I did not mind it as much as I should have. Your glory was too unquestionable, your shine too bright, for me to ever doubt my
place behind you. Always a step behind. We were opposites at birth, and we still are, but something has changed within us both. I doubt the feeling of elation that
comes over me now. Maybe we have grown too far from one another, and yet so close that your inexplicable joy has rubbed off on me. Or maybe my sanity is finally
gone. Yes, I like that explanation much better than the slim chance of my change of heart. I have no heart, haven't you heard? It has dissipated like smoke in the
wind, and yet I see no ashes from the fire. They, too, have gone far from me, far from this world of loneliness in my mind, too far for me to ever retrieve them. If I
ever wanted to, that is. Again, I find myself straying from the task at hand, spending too much time in the past and not enough of it in the present. I'll ask you,
though, if you've ever felt this way, like the very essence of your soul is being ripped from you. Maybe you'll tell me that you've never felt it, that you've never looked
upon something with such sorrow that you cry yourself to sleep, or maybe you'll nod, say that it is a horrible feeling and that you forgive me for all the wrong I've
done. That might work, if we were still boys, still young adolescent dreamers with the world far ahead of us. We are not those same boys, and I do hope you know
that. I am not that same boy you were raised beside, no, he's dead and buried, along with the rest of my heart. I cannot help the nostalgia that coils around me, like
it has found a home at long last, at the thought of you as you were so long ago. Such a happy child. Was I happy once? Or did you even notice me? Did you not see
the anguish deep within me, the hurt and anger of my soul? I cannot believe you if you say that you did, because I was so good at hiding, such a master at blending
in with the shadows so you could illuminate my world. And illuminate you did. You were my sun, and I your moon. My life was tethered to yours with such thick
strings, and yet they were unraveling before our very eyes. You grew up so fast, I recall. Your life was such a nice thing, such a comfort to have, and what was my
life? A bed of such sharp nails that I slept on the floor, surrounded by those whispers. And then we were men, men who could wait no longer to be gone, to be rid of
the tightly bonded life of our childhood. I had long ago severed those chords, though. You never did take notice, even then, and your naivety bothers me still. Perhaps
it was that very thing, your blessed ignorance, that made me learn to hate you. I loathed the thought of you, the mention of your oh very glorious name, and it left a
sour taste in my mouth. But how I loved you. Such turmoil does nothing to aid one's psyche, so naturally I was confused. I remember one night, one dark, horrible
night, when my thoughts always led to the same single word. Odin. You gained his love so easily, like it was as natural as breathing, and it should have been the
same way for me, but we both know deep down that it was nothing shy of impossible. He never even smiled at me. Perhaps my current predicament has made me
delirious, but by the gods how it hurt to know that I was not loved, like a pain so deep it ruins your blood and sucks the life from you. And oh how my blood is ruined.
It is pooling around me in thick black puddles and you are clutching me to your chest like you could save me, but we both know how this will end. You will come out
of this victorious, Odin's pride and joy, Midgard's savior, protector of all the nine realms, and I will never leave this rotten city of Earth, this polluted, nasty, unnatural
piece of the mortal world that I despise so much, and my breaths will cease soon, my heart will stop beating, but I doubt there is a heart in my chest, and my green
eyes, always so different from your ocean irises, will close and never open again. But it is better this way, better for me to wither and be forgotten, but promise me
that you of all people will not forget me. Promise that you will know how I was, what I was meant to be, and that you will remember me. Know that I do love you, I
always have, and that you are my brother in every meaning of the word, because it is the only thought that is keeping me alive right now, the one thing that is
fueling my spirit, and if you do not remember, if you shun me like the rest, I will fade into nothing, just like I always have.
Please R&R. :)