A Sad Girl and Why

A letter to my asshole of a brother about my miserable fucking self.


1. A Sad Girl and Why

It’s been about a month now and I am really missing your shadow.


I miss how you used to scream at me.


How you’d snap at me for nothing.


 I miss the weeks that I would ignore you, the way my jokes never made you laugh which you made sure that I knew. I miss how much better than me you were and how ugly I felt when I was with you. I miss how lazy you made me feel: how you could run a marathon with a sigh and I couldn’t even keep up with our asthmatic spaniel.


I miss the sticks you threw and my window and that knock at 11pm that meant that my running commentary of Stranger Things was way too loud.


I miss reading your stories. I miss hearing your stories. I miss your laugh and the shit that you talked.


I miss being compared to you; I miss comparing myself to you. I miss your friends, not even talking to them, just knowing that they were there. I miss our meals for four, and two for Tuesdays and you using my Amazon Prime. I miss talking about Game of Thrones and how shit that episode of The Walking Dead was. I missing ‘going halfers’ and the shit you gave me about Hawaiian pizza. I miss your graphic tees and the stupid shit they said.


I miss Subway and meatball sandwiches. I miss rocky roads and fifteens and how fucking awful I was at baking.


I miss when you’d find me crying my guts out on the floor of my room, or on the stairs or in the front room as soon as I came home.


I miss drawing for you and annoying you and you annoying me. I miss car drives down south and you mocking my addiction to Paperchase.


I miss drives to the Chinese, to the post office, to Tescos.


I miss hearing you in the house. I miss you making fun of me and picking you up from the ferry. I miss you asking about me and I miss telling you the truth. I miss going to plays. I miss your plays. I miss your music. I miss your mumbling. I miss you snapping when someone told you that you mumbled... which you did. I only knew what you were saying about five percent of the time.


I miss Mad Men. I miss how it was always playing somewhere in the house.


I miss you. A whole lot.


And yeah, you were an asshole. And I told everyone how much I hated you every chance I got. But my life is pretty much fucking empty without you. Because no one comes into my room anymore. No one asks if I want to come on drives. No one makes fun of me, no one talks to me much at all anymore.


And I think that’s what sucks the most. I’ve talked my whole life about how fucking lonely I am, how much of a waste I am and how no one ‘gets me’. Except you did. You do. And I miss you. A whole fucking lot. 

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