Dear Brother,
I'm sure you know what it's like to waste a night.
Or maybe you don't.
Either way, I did it again last night.
Stayed up late, so tired that I felt wide awake.
I had nothing to do, nowhere to be.
It was a world without limitations...
Except I had to be silent,
our parents were fast asleep in the next room over
and I had no intentions of waking them up.
I didn't shut my bedroom light off,
so when I opened the door,
the bright yellow spilled into the darkness outside.
My headphones were on, and I played music softly,
dancing with light feet.
Spinning in circles and lying down.
Standing up and sitting again.
And besides being quiet, I thought it best to stay in my bedroom.
Never before had the space seemed so small,
funnily enough, it seemed far too big for one person.
I wished I had someone to share it with.
I spent half an hour thinking on that alone,
wondering who I'd like to join me.
Although I don't remember who I decided on in the end,
I have to be honest and say that
it probably wasn't you.
So why should I tell you?
Why does it matter if I didn't want you there?
But you were there,
because even if I didn't want you there,
you already were.
I could not shake the thought that
somewhere, somehow,
you were wide awake as well.
Lying in bed, staring straight up at the ceiling?
Or were you tending to your little baby girl?
Were you telling her the stories
that you used to make up for me?
On long car rides, or on camping trips,
when I was bored out of my mind, and way too tired,
you'd tell me those stories.
I hope that you were.
They were our stories.
No.
They were mine.
But I can only hope that she'll get to have you whole,
to have you like I did.
As a family member, sure I suppose,
but more importantly, as a close friend.
As her role model, and as her rock in rough seas.
And furthermore,
I hope that she grows up strong and perfect,
and although I love your wife,
I hope she grows up to be just like you.
Confident and unapologetic,
talented and comforting,
a believer in herself,
and a believer in everybody else.
I hope she learns to see the beauty in things,
to fix them up better,
just like her Papa.
I also hope that she has all of your temper.
Your inability to sit still when faced with injustice.
I hope she speaks up,
and talks back,
and questions everything.
I hope that she never takes no for an answer
and is the biggest pain in my ass.
I hope she eats like a slob,
spends hours fixing her hair,
and fails miserably at driving.
I want her to be proud of her father.
The one who has all of those traits she does,
the one that will always have a perfectly cut,
perfectly manicured,
place in my heart.
I know you'll raise her well.
And I hope that one day, when she's up late
in the very dead of night,
sitting in the silence.
When she's thinking under the bright fluorescent lights
with the dark of outside standing just beyond her window.
I hope that right then and there,
she'll think of you too.