a letter to my brother

dear big brother,

so this is an unorganized ramble.. sans alcohol so.. i don’t have a good excuse for its state.

i’ve reread your letter over & over again
on days im unsure of the person i’m left with post-breakup
& on days i just want the satisfaction of seeing him called “Mr. Potatohead” on the internet.

there are some things ive learned about myself
given some time & space from it all
& i figure,
like a good patient reporting back to their therapist
asking for clearance to return to society,
i should write this to let you know.

i’ve come to realize i have more squishy bags than i thought
things that im willing to bend
with no resentment
things i dont see as a sacrifice
for the right person.
things that i used to consider non-negotiables like:
getting on a roller coaster
being called “baby” or “babe”
committing to temporary long distance
these are things that if i see myself long-term with someone,
a person who is throwing his squishy stuff into the space as well
& doesn’t mind the chaos of the bending & mushing of personals
id be happy to adjust for.
they’re equal sacrifices.

& my hard surfaces have only become more pronounced
post-breakup with Mr. Potatohead
things that were mislabeled
mistaken
to be belongings that weren’t near & dear to my heart
so they were shoved into the attic with no sensitivity
no gentleness
to collect dust & become forgotten items for another time.
things like:
my introverted tendencies
my desire to have a marriage possibly without kids in the picture
my faith
my need for plans/schedules/consistency
my family
my love language of acts of service.

maybe its my fault for misrepresenting the value of these things.
maybe i did in fact deceive him,
playing it off as easy-going, & out-going
doesn’t everyone put their best foot forward when they get to know someone?

& maybe it’s my fault for letting my values be treated so insignificantly

but i also dont think a good person
a truly good person,
someone who loves you
& wants to build a life with you,
would bulldoze you like that.

it plays out in my head like this:
early on he realized there’s finite space available,
after quickly assessing the ratio & significance of his stuff vs mine
[because engineers are good at calculating stuff like that]
without hesitation, he slipped on his noise-canceling headphones
& went to town with a sledgehammer on my luggage
unable to hear the shattering, of all that makes me– me.

so counselor,
i have to object to your closing remarks.
because there was no shattering of tiny unfulfilling cups,
or breaking of roller-boards on my part.
i never partook in the crime myself.
maybe for lack of strength.
maybe for grace & better up-bringing — who knows.

i can say i am grateful though
for the perspective
for the time to account for all my belongings again
for the thrill of the possibility
of finding someone who stops & points at my hard-cased Travelpro,
& simply smiles & says, “hey! i have one just like that.  Where’d you get it from?”
& i now have the capacity to take the time to tell them.

love you.

-your lil sis

Author: earthtomars

we're bigger than the sum of broken parts.

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