Dear brother
January 11, 2014 @ 9:13 p.m.
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       Before I left to Greece I got rid of most every thing. And back then, the little I left with mom meant the world. In your drug craze you took so much. I loved that guitar, my frustrated dream. Those ruby earrings were a gift from dad, his only acknowledgement of my teenage years. The gameboy was not even mine. And that black glass rose was sacred.
       But you took more than that. You took my trust.
       Perhaps mom has forgotten the way you made Aline's life a living hell. Perhaps Arlene was too busy and far away to see mom's agonized despair. Perhaps Mary is content in believing you have gotten better. And perhaps you are too young and too fresh out of your addictions to start weaving back what you so brutally tore. But I'm still hoping for the day.

       Because I remember.

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