They were boys the first time—knees dusty, shirts wrinkled, holding each other like the world might crack if they let go. The older one learned early how to be a shield. The younger learned what safety felt like in the curve of an arm. Then life did what it does best: it scattered them.
A misunderstanding hardened into silence. Letters were written and never sent. Addresses changed. Seasons stacked up until memory felt like a photograph tucked into a drawer—still there, but fading at the edges. Continue reading…
