Eleven months

Have to get this off my chest.

It’s eleven months ago today. Eleven months since he killed himself, my dear brother.
You know, the longest I ever had to miss him was 10 days. That was when he left for a camp with a youth movement. And I remember missing him so badly, I just couldn’t wait to see him again. I still can’t believe he’s not coming back now, I mean, how can he be gone? How can a life, built up over 16 long years, just disappear in a second?
If a stranger would come in our house, they wouldn’t even know he’s not there anymore. All his stuff is just where he last put it. His box of tissues for his nose is still next to his bed. His schoolmaps are still in the closet next to his desk. His backpack over his chair. His socks, t-shirts, pants, sweaters, hoodies, all his clothes are still there, in his closet. In our bathroom, his toothbrush is still right next to ours. His deoderant is still standing there, his pyjama’s are still next to mine in the bathroomcloset. His toothpast, his shaving things. His shoes are downstairs in the hall, standing there. On the computer, every document he ever made, every game he installed, we all kept it. His iPod, his wallet, his papers, all of it.
I don’t ever want those things to move an inch. I can’t let it go. I want there to always be 4 toothbrushes in the bathroom, my moms, my dads, mine and his. His place at our table will never be taken by anyone else. I can’t and don’t want to let go of those things. I want to keep everything he ever touched, everything he ever spoke about. I want to gather as many things as possible that remind me of him, I want to have as many memories as possible.

I just love him so much and I want him back.