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I remember

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I remember the way you would use any excuse to show off your muscles, always with that cocky smile.

I remember when we were using the sifter at the beach to find shells, and you went to use it for a second, and caught a little fish.

I remember how you always but a bug in the ear of the driver wherever we were going, to stop by Hooters for lunch. Funny how often we ended up at Hooters...

I remember the way you would pull me on my lap and tell me you were always just a phone call away, and you didn't know much about girls and broken hearts, or how to fix them, but cookie dough always seemed to work for your sister. You said one phone call and you would come, no matter how far away it was, and feed me cookie dough and try to help me, because you never wanted to see me hurt.

I remember going to Medieval Times after a dance recital, still in my Tinkerbell costume. You really wanted a sword. In the end, you got one. I now have that sword... Your dad gave it to me, after you left.

I remember after another, we went to Ruby Tuesdays. Usually, we had to fight over the seat by you, but I get it that day. That was before my sister started dancing. It was my day, and I got the seat.

I remember your habit of pushing or throwing anyone you could into the pool. And my dad getting his revenge once... and your phone was luckily on the table.

I remember how once you left money in your pockets and put it through the wash. When my mom mentioned it, you said something about how it was looking kinda dirty anyway.

I remember the way you and my mom always played go-fish, except it was a weird go-fish...

I remember being terrified and scared and sad when you were in the hospital. I was worried when they didn't know what was wrong... and relieved when you got better.

I remember you giving me The View from Saturday, from the Easter Bunny. I love that book. I love reading the words, and knowing you enjoyed them, too.

I remember your Paris Island Graduation, and how paranoid you were about getting your uniform stained.






I remember my dad sitting us down to tell us you were gone. You hit a tree, and your body may be here, but you were never coming back.


I still love you, and I miss you.



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