I remember you so clearly in my mind, hunched over the breakfast table doing the crossword puzzle. I loved the way your brow furrowed when you were thinking hard. Your face lit up like a light bulb when you figured the answer out. Sometimes, I remember sitting there, hardly touching my breakfast, just watching you. I wanted to be like you. I wanted to know the things you knew.
I remember trying to play the piano, thinking I would finally be good enough for you to smile at me. But I never was. “Cut out that damn racket!” you would shout from your office. Your office. I loved it up there. I remember tip-toeing down that hallway, passed your bedroom and toward the one that used to belong to me.
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