I miss you. Everyday. Every time I’m lonely or bored or depressed which is pretty much half of  the time in no particular order. You should be here right now listening to me whine about how life is unfair and how i want to be a stupid adult but I can’t because life had to dump crap in my lap. You should be here listening to me whine about how there’s a boy that’s just trying to mess with my head and you should give me the confidence I need to tell him to shove a spade up his a**. You should be here making mummy proud and happy.

I don’t know why God will give a gift, make it so perfect and beautiful, and then take it back. You were the saint, you were the caring one, you were, perfect. We used to joke about you being the pastor of the family. So perfect mummy wouldn’t stop crying. I said so many mean words to you always, how I wished you were dead because you knock me around as normal brothers do. But I wasn’t a normal sister. I just had to curse you out. And when my words came to pass and I got the confirmation I needed from mummy that I was the wicked witch that killed you. She would cast me off her sight talking with so much grief she thought I was too young to know. I couldn’t stop crying either. I haven’t stopped yet. How could I do this to myself, how could I murder the innocence that was you? How could I kill my own best friend? But I did. And I was hunted with it every-single-day. I saw blood on my hands. They were tainted with the beauty of your death. My mouth was vile and powerful and they were dripping with the redness of a fresh kill. Forever fresh. In my memories. You will be. They told me eventually it wasn’t my fault. But of course, they only said it to make me feel better. What if I hadn’t said those words? What if you were still alive!

Everyone had someone to lean on, except me.I became the odd one out. The odd number. You were supposed to be the yang to my yin, the Clyde to my Bonnie. But instead, you had me psychologically defected talking to walls and paper figures instead, imagining it could be you. I wasn’t inconsolable, cos nobody consoled me. I would lock myself in my room for hours on end, crying my eyes out and taking solace in the cream-colored walls that spoke to me things no one should know. I became cast out, nobody wanted me. They wanted you. I wanted you. I want you. I wanted badly to switch places with you. Bring you back here, to the living, where you belong. I begged and cried and wished, but the He up there wouldn’t take me. He wouldn’t give you back. I became destined to be among the living, even though dead, dead by wish, dead by prayers and supplications offered. Supplications still being offered that he still wouldn’t graciously oblige!

I still want you back. I still keep that space. For you. Nobody will ever take it. I will still be waiting. I don’t want to wait for eternity and judgment day or whatever before I get to spend time with you. I want you in my here and now. You belong with me. We should be cruising Lagos you know, there’s this new place on admiralty we should go to. I miss you.

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