I havent seen him for ages although I've lived with him my entire life. I spent 20 years fighting and hating someone so much I just have to love him......
He's roaming the streets with a crew cut that would grow into to-die-for curls after 6 months. He'd like to be 6 feet and a few pounds heavier while I'm trying hard to lose the reason he calls me "fatty". Yet, I know he's teasing.
I've watched him grow and it's hard to say he's changed. It's also difficult to say he's remained the same. He's the same boy who can't stand his annoying li'l sis, but is the man who knows when its okay for her to wear that dress.
He likes women. Just like all other straight guys do. Yet, he hasn't been in a relationship longer than two months. He lives on practicality and that is something women don't seem to understand. "Commitment" does not exist for him. He has his reasons....Zaha Hadid is the woman in his life.
It follows then that he loves design. He loves cars. He loves to design cars. He's studying to be an architect. Suffocated by professors who think square when he sees round, who see Byzantine or Gothic when he sees post modern and deconstruction. Aesthetics does not follow rules. Feasibility does. The Palm Islands are intelligent design; the Acropolis, a masterpiece.
Now I know it's possible for a guy to wear colours other than white, black, dark blue, dark green and grey. His favorite colour is green. Different shades of green.....Red is good, so is orange. Yellow too. Pink....depends! He's the guy who decides whether something looks good on me or not. The guy who'll tell me that I need to dress up once in a way.....
I'm sure he wanted a brother. So he said when I asked him. I was about 15 then; he 16. He'd gotten a new set of friends, was partying every other week, "hanging out". I was sitting at home reading a book or out playing street badminton. Oh the shame, the embarrassment!!
Ask him now and he'll deny that he'd wished for a brother. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. But I know he loves me all the same. For all the shit I do. All the shit I get him into. All the shit I get him out of. The shit we face together.....
It doesn't help one bit that I don't have him to talk to. Or that he writes four lines once a week in reply to the essays I write every day. He tells me he doesn't miss me, that I'm an idiot to forget my data cable at home, and that I need to get a life.That's why I miss him. Mum says that's why he misses me......He says he'll buy me my first car. I want a Lamborghini Gallardo!
He's the only person I'll believe. The only one I can tell has been lying and who can tell I've been lying. And he will never lie to me.