Ran, played, yelled as little boys.
We were children until
we weren’t.
We fought. We argued.
You were the only one
I went to war with.
Boys to men.
Fists. Blood. Pain. Anger. Resentment.
We survived the hood.
The gangs.
The violence.
We survived our parents’ best.
We did not survive each other.
It destroys me
that your peace
requires my absence.
If that is peace
then I must respect your wishes.
You must heal from me. From us.
I must trust your wisdom.
—
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