He sits silent in the shade of the sun, where a decade ago he might have played in the dirt..or was it two decades? I have lost track of his age, he looks older than he truly is. Maybe 30, soon, maybe not. Stained grey hair poking out through his skull like wild grass, and I remember how handsome he once was. Now, his face looks trailed, strained and spoken for, turned around, turned inside out, stretched so far the beach it walks on is endless. Just as his words, when they finally roll forth, basking in the glory of being capable of thought, slower now. Not like I knew them. Not sure anymore, not angry and desperate, deceitful or amazing, with stories of light years and spaceships and how the world came to be. Why did you turn so old, Alexander?

Silent all these years, your tears and your dry, stringy blue eyes. Silent and weak, as you have appeared to me, hiding away in your room, later, hiding away in your mind. Always creeping further down the trail, trail of crumbs, rats and all things afraid of monsters of my ilk. Tunnels, going on and on and never leading nowhere, anywhere, wonderland. You are Alice, but your dress does not fit. I am the cat, but my grin is wider and more lingering, my fangs bigger. Oh, you coward. You coward in the land of salt and rot, burning your memory to be deaf, mute and blind.

Worse for the wear, worse for the touch, taking all and giving nothing. Leaving everyone behind is alright, it is respected, accepted and now acknowledged. But why haven't you saved yourself? Why haven't you surfaced from your thousands of creepy, thinly aired and slightly lit holes? Calling your name for two decades, standing at the door. But you aren't home yet.

Hollow, empty and coarse words. Laughter, you hyena, brother of the snakes. Winding through life, sneaking the corners into your open palms, closing the books and blocking the doors. Standing there, in the dawn of the night, my doorway seemed all naked and dirty; your tears on your fingers, asking of me again to give all. To give up my ideas, my thoughts, my only friend in this world. Is she enough now?

And on the surface of you, the silent smile, what is supposed to look like you're happy, open and welcoming. But in the mist between us siblings, my notion of space, delirious, drafty space. You have never spoken to me.

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