Need scrapes your skin slowly as tears invade your eyes but giving in means surrendering and we both know that surrendering is never an option.
So, we wait, our chocolate brown eyes trying to analyze the others depths as our minds run like clock work, slowly ticking with each thought that rings through our quiet minds.
We've learned to master our thoughts, him and I.
It's times like this when our vacant faces stare into one another that we find ourselves lost in the abyss of each other's misconceptions and intriguing ideologies.
It is only when words of anger spill from our lips like our tears of fury that the soft tick of our minds turns into heavy metal blaring in my room while I read another book on how to be logical.
It's ironic, really.
We talk only to fight only to silently listen to others' emotions through his fancy radio.
Our arguments are made with logic yet our anger cracks the glass that is our calm and yet no one knows that it was supposed to be bullet proof.
I suppose that's what you get when your brother could be your twin:
Calm, collected chaos.
And then we'll laugh,
Because the clichés run on.