A shiver just ran down my spine. My hands are tingling from wrist to fingers, leaving the tops red and sensitive. It's freezing outside, yet I feel like I'm supposed to be here, sit here on the swing once again. I'm wearing two shirts and have two huge vests covering them, but the cold is still creeping in through the fabric slowly. My arms are beginning to ache and I'm more than glad I still wear a hat everyday. One cloud of breath shows the actual freezing cold mingling with my warm breath, and it gets colder inside each time I suck new oxygen in. It's overwhelming, and my lungs can barely stand what they're being put up with right now, but I'm trying to think of you here, Bill. Trying to get you to warm me up just a little, even if my skin will still feel just as cold – I can hardly even breath anymore, so embrace my heart, please?

I'm intended to let you know more how I feel. Not as in sad or angry or lucky. That's just one word outlining something that might even be a whole damn book. Really, I can do better. I'm not very much of a poet, but I'm sure learning. You've given me a lot of spare time, so I might as well spend it on you as I always have done.

I still miss you more than yesterday. It makes me feel kind of lame. But pretty normal on the other hand. Everything and everyone just seems to keep reminding me, even though I never even forgot. I dare to speak to you, tell you stuff and make up your answers as I do. I haven't spoken of you in a long time and even though I might not seem to be bothered by that much, it's hard to even just hold in a joke about you I would've normally been easily prepared for to crack. It's not saying it that makes it difficult for me, it's more that I never know how people are going to respond (they used to just laugh, you know, it used to be as simple as that) and the fact that I'll have hurt myself right after makes it all the more tough. Making fun of something as serious as you, should've been scarier when you were still here to slap me in the face, but now you're not I've simply gotten too sensitive for it. I'm glum most of the time. People are acting too damn complicated.

You know, I loved how you were never ordinary. Though it always led me back to when you were young. We had a girl coming over to play and she was all 'I want to play Barbie!' and I guess she kind of expected you to get all pissy and try to convince her of how much better all those superhero-dolls were. So it even surprised me when you nodded and got totally excited as Ken came out of the huge bag of barbie-dolls she'd brought with her.
The following evening I just couldn't help myself but to ask why. It never occured to me Ken was like most men, he was obviously a much better example than the big green Hulk other boys were playing with. You had that sense.

'I don't want to be a superhero, I just want to normal.'

Well, you can tell me a lot of things and few of them I might actually believe - but even if that's what you really wanted; you never became normal. You never were. Me being used to you, didn't make you normal, it just made it seem like that for me. Even if who you were, was your obvious definition of what you wanted to be, I still don't think I will ever be able to actually call you that, define you as normal.

Jeez, I'm not even talking about your... hair. Certainly not about your clothing. Hell, like that even mattered to me, I was only your twin brother as far as it concerned your looks. There was just, I don't know... something, I guess. Yeah, it was something - I bet you didn't see that one coming.

I told you I'm no poet.

Anyway, I don't really want to talk about everything before anymore. But I guess everything I'll ever be able to tell you or others about you, will be before, it's too late now to make you a future, not even a present. I'm just saying, you weren't normal. Sorry if that made your bubble burst.

No, to me it hasn't burst yet. You're still floating around like a sailplane, waiting to crash whenever I decide is good for us. I will decide from now on, because I like it that way. I like being in control of things, you know that, because you know more of me than I ever will. So now I'll have to find out all the unknown, everything only you ever kept in mind, before it's too late and you come whirling down on account of a hurricane, other than on mine.

One time Andreas asked me it, whether I ever imagine you're still here, never left, and if it helps when I do. I told him no. You're just for me now, I can't share you any longer. I already feel so out of place. Ever since I was young, I could never quite seem to settle comfortably if we were apart, so the band was just another fortunate luck for me. But it gets to me now, if I'm never going to feel in place and nothing's ever going to feel perfect again – then how long will it actually take for me to sneak back to you? I know I will never be suicidal, but if wanting to feel in place and you being the only person who can make me feel that way will make me that... It just... it frightens me so much. I could never kill myself, and I could never last without you.

It seems like I'm never going to stop babbling about you and how you're not here. It never stops. There's. Just. No. Fucking. End to it. I wish someone else would strike me down so I won't have to deal with this shit any longer.


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