- his hands:
- rough and calloused
- square fingernails
- not letting go of mine
- his feet:
- heavy, but quiet walking up the stairs
- lots of shoes, always barefoot
- his tattoos:
- sakuras and a koi on his right scapula
- mirror image Old English R's where the humerus meets the shoulder
- Two japanese demon masks on either side of his pelvis
- and my name in Old English in between
- an aztec pattern on his left wrist
- his departed father's name in old native alphabet just above it
- I heard he got new ones
- his hair:
- as dry and as unruly as mine
- always complaining how it grows so slowly
- they shaved him back on rehab. He hated it.
- his closet:
- closet door broken for years, and he never bothered to get it fixed.
- that was the problem, he was never a fan of fixing things.
- distressed slim cut jeans
- lots of flannels and designer jackets
- half of his clothes are unused, tags still attached. Said he never fancied showing off all those expensive worthless stuff.
- he had a favourite shirt though, the one I gave him.
- his addictions:
- weed
- crystal meth
- and me.
- his room:
- dirty white walls; a big Bob Marley poster
- beer bottles on the floor.
- We always drank beer on his bed, hospital green sheets and cigarette ashes.
- dirty clothes everywhere and a few clean ones vomited by his unattended closet.
- a small window to the west where we used to look out to see the sunset, blinding, but blurred by the smoke trapped by the ceiling.
- his mother would always walk in, would say hi, and when I go down to the kitchen, she would thank me silently for keeping his son home.
- it was our own private world.
- but I left him. I shouldn't have.
- but he was deteriorating and I was deteriorating and he wasn't a fan of fixing things and neither am I.
jun 1 2012 ∞
jun 1 2012 +