2012 is still buried in my bones. Remembering slices through me like a knife. Every cell in my body holding a dangerous thought, an insecurity, a poisoned word. My skeleton lives with the agony of needing to crumble. All of their words sink into my pores. They broke past my shield and burrowed into my mind.

   All you left me with was a note; and then you were gone.

   I never liked the word hate; but I hate your bullies for making you hate yourself. I hate their words for eating through you till nothing remained. I hate them for making you hate yourself. I hate them for killing you with your own imagination. I hate them for making me lonely without you. God, I hate missing you.
   Sometimes, I see you.  Different things remind me of you. I would be at the nearest coffee shop around that deserted alleyway at 6' O clock in the morning. Before the sun let out and flashed the whole world of its intense hues and dancing colors. It would be a simple glimpse at the chocolate chip cookie glowering at me under the obscure illumination of the light above as I decided on an apple strudel or a plain muffin. And suddenly.. I'm back in the warm kitchen. You’re twelve years old again. The aroma of chocolate chip cookies drifting from the closed oven door to my nose. You and mom laughing at something the dog did or didn't do. The laughter like heavy rain fulminating my mind, causing the cold of December wind to irk the inner part of my subconscious. And Dad in his honor of being a dad, singing along to the poorly written pop song, changing the lyrics as we all erupted into a fit of giggles. I could feel the enchantment of it all beneath the helpless giggles.

   Like the tide hitting the ocean, I tried to grasp my thoughts all at once but I couldn't help pointing out that this was the last time I recalled you ever being whole and happy. We were all in each other's presence as if we were genuinely enjoying the company, as if we weren’t dead on the inside.   It would be at that time, I would faintly come back to reality and in the urgency to leave the place that reminded me of you, forget my paid coffee sitting on the counter, the spiritless, middle aged,  barista calling me out.

   Your presence, the memories, they silently haunt me, but yesterday, as I was staring at my ceiling in my room, thoughtlessly tossing a baseball in the air, catching it every time; you spoke to me, “We’re all angels.” Spoken so delicately, so fearlessly.
I just froze, but I wasn’t frightened. “How could you say that?” I shouted in your face, quickly looking away. Not wanting to lose it in front of you; even if it wasn’t really you. How could you say that after what they did to you? Those nasty girls at school humiliating you in front of everyone. nitpicking your every flaw. They made you feel worthless! They were not angels, they were devils. Slowly, I gathered myself and gained the courage to look at your silhouette, sitting on the edge of my bed, just like you used to. You knew I was beginning to calm down, so you answered me.

“We all have halos Jackson, all of us. Only some people have halos that are shattered and broken down. People have snapped our halos, and bent them in every wrong way. They've lost their charming gold touch, that’s all.”

   You were always wise beyond your years. But still, I questioned you, “Oh, but how do we fix them?”

   “We don’t.” Always blunt, weren't you? But your words sank in, and the disappointment set in. I was always going to be broken. Not seeing you everyday, picking on you like brothers do, it broke me. I was always going to be broken and bent. All because of how they treated you. All because those guys couldn't keep their mouth’s shut. I’m broken, because they destroyed you with their words. The way they put you down… it tore apart our family.  I look down again, on the verge of tears. But you continued and you spoke the kindest of words, “But we’re still angels. Angels of madness. Angels of twisted darkness. They do say too much of something good is a bad thing. And so you, are still an angel. And you have a halo upon your head. Even with your aching heart and tear stained cheeks to match.”

   Without looking up, I whispered, “We’re all angels”, and with that my head tilted up, but you were gone. I haven’t seen you since.  I miss you. But I guess even angels get sad; even you couldn't take it anymore; even little sisters have a breaking point, leaving brothers torn and families shattered.