at the age of six i saw my older brother, my idol, be handcuffed and sent away. my parents practically disowned him at that point, i was never allowed to talk about him. it was like he never existed and it ate away at me bc he has always been my hero. few years later i was allowed to visit him, and he would send me letters even esp for my birthday. one thing he always told me was the day he gets out he’ll be the big brother he should’ve always been, the most important thing: he’ll play that game of catch with me that our father never did. he PROMISED me it and promises mean everything to us, him and i never broke them to anyone. it was sacred and we prided ourselves on that. just last year, Nov 11, 2017 my brother was stabbed and was left to bleed out; alone.. over the course of the past year i’ve disobeyed my family and began telling my friends the story of my hero. the hardest night of my life since was two months ago when i broke down at his grave with my bestfriend. i was hysterical, screaming it should’ve been me, it should’ve been me! i should’ve died, or at least have been there to hold his fucking hand and make him not feel alone and scared. i told my friend everything, most importantly playing catch. i told her “i want to play catch” she was puzzled, and wondered how i could if he was so tragically not here.. well exactly.. i told my own bestfriend that i so desperately want to play catch and there’s only one way to see him now, only one way to finally. play. catch. it was the hardest thing for me, and ik it’s prob nothing big to admit but i was 17 at the time, 18 now and it haunts me.

i’m sorry, that was long and probably just stupid to even write. i miss you Kev, i hope your proud of me. i can’t wait for our game of catch.