He sits at the table twiddling with his thumbs,
nervously waiting to talk
As he speaks my chest gets heavier,
He looks up and has sorrow in his eyes,
and I look at him with sadness.
He leaves our house for two months,
a slow time without anyone.
Awaiting his return I sit
by the window. Searching for his face
lost to the crowd. I mostly see
friends and strangers
who come in and out of my house.
I know how little I hear from him,
he rarely calls.
When he does call, I smile
knowing I’m going to hear his voice.
Straining to keep his voice in my head
so I can remember him when he’s gone.
The day he finally comes home I give him a long embrace.
He tells me he’s missed me and that he’s better now.
I know how hard it took him to be here,
how hard it’s going to be for him
he will never be perfect, but in my eyes-he already is.
There is always a chance
that he might go back to that place,
bidding farewell to his loved ones,
who love him unconditionally .
But I will never give up on him. He is my best friend.
He tells me that dreams are everywhere, even when you’re awake.
The few times I see him are cherished memories,
when he hugs me everything is alright,
he is my best friend, my brother.