Siblings

I am the one always accusing him of being anal, rigid, particular.  

His tightness, his commitment to perfection — I have allergies to both that I’ve developed over time. 

But I know he can’t help it.  

I know it hurts him too. 

I wish it were how it used to be.  

Lighthearted fights of minimal content that blew over with popsicle peace offerings or invitations to play walkie talkie hide and go seek tag - my favorite version. 

Now, the material feels heavier.  

Baggage we avoid. Suitcases going round and round the carousel, no one wanting to claim them. Bring them home. Unpack them. 

We hardly get together anymore, now that we’re busy with our families. 

Him in Shasta and in Overwhelm,

Me in Marin and in Judgement.

But still, when we do, he looks into my eyes with his kind brown ones and he hugs me, the way only he does: with his whole heart open. 

And the gaps are bridged and all those things don’t matter anymore.  No need to claim, collect, and unpack anything. It’s just the two of us, back together again. 

Nothing a good frisbee toss session can’t handle. 

This is not a sad story, he and I.  

I believe there will be a reunion of gold. 

For now, we are just in Winter.