I am named after my brother.
 
Early November, the thirteenth, morning.
My brother, in my arms, first time.
No one heard his murmur, his crying, his laughs;
not even our mother — She is loud.
 
I am a listener, good hearing. I heard them all.
 
My brother was covered in white petals, roses I assume.
The peaceful scent of his diffusion in the air, our first snowman tasted like flowers.
The first snow of December.
 
My brother missed our mother badly. He loved her.
Me, more of a curiosity. Not yet to love someone far away.
And,
She cried all the time — loud.
 
Every thirteenth of November, morning,
My brother brought back flowers, clothes, sweets and toys.
Countless, gorgeous, delicious, but a boy’s toys.
 
I was envious of my brother.
Never a Barbie for me. Why mother?
My bare body never embraced by petals, only the clouds around me.
The taste of chocolate, only for him.
My brother told me to be patient.
“You have to wait for the time to be right.”
 
One day, mother stopped crying, but brother started to sigh.
His dark eyes, his sorrow, his fear of being faded from memories.
“I’ll be here all alone.”
What if one day — no flowers, clothes, sweets and toys?
 
We were about to separate. I had my own journey ahead.
Yet under my brother’s gentle gaze, I cried.
He tended to me, held me in, a gentle kiss on my forehead.
“What’s going on?”
“They’ll not love me.”
“They will.”
“Our mother has never seen me before.”
“She will.”
“But I’ll miss you so.”
My brother went silent. His warm hands soothingly stroked my back.
“One day we will meet again.”
My whisper turned to water vapor in the air before I lost the sight of him.
“We will.”
 
I heard my brother’s name. I opened my eyes.
It was my name now.
I got my barbie, my flowers, and all that love.
Deeply inside, I wondered if my dreams of him were just dreams.
 
 It was the first thirteenth of November since my arrival.
The cemetery.
 Flowers, clothes, sweets and a boy’s toys.
 
My brother, he was never alone.