listen.

I find him sitting in the corner of the garden. The same corner I'd sit in, and and count the hairs that came away with every slide of my fingers across my scalp. My hair's thick now, all honeysuckle - scented and windblown, and my brother is all sharp cheekbones and curled lip.


"I don't...", I start to say.


He reaches out his hand (his long, narrow hand, so unlike my wide palms and short fingers) and touches my face.


"I'd forgottten what you sound like." he said.