WINSTON

You are older than me. You are older and wiser and sometimes angrier. I remember all the times Mom or Dad would tell me how much you talked as a baby. You would talk me to sleep. We would be in our cribs in the same room, and I would lay down and you would talk and talk and talk (that’s exactly how Dad would say it). You would talk and talk and I would fall asleep. Then, you’d talk until you fell asleep. Now I feel as if I talk enough for the both of us. When did you start getting so quiet? When did I become the talkative one; who made you quieter? Smaller. Was it me? Sometimes I think about how mean I am to you. I think about all of the horrible, awful things I’ve said to you, all of the terrible thoughts I should’ve kept to myself and I realize that maybe it wasn’t that you stopped talking. It was that you stopped talking to me. Because, somewhere along the line, I started talking back. And now, you are leaving and I’m scared that even though I talk and you listen now, there will never be enough words for me to find the way to say I love you. I’m sorry that my love was hard discovered and even harder given. But I know you will talk and talk and talk until you put yourself to sleep.