Disconsolate Inclination
I saw the vibrancy in his eyes. I saw the youth and joy that was embedded into his misunderstood soul that those even closest to me turned a blind eye to. I saw the ongoing love he lacked an outlet for. But his life was a broken circuit. Their lies about his manipulative ways, their lies about his cantankerous attitude, and their lies about his desire to hurt those that loved him most became true. A truth that could be supported by facts. Facts that no one was proud of. He wasn’t who I had grown up to be accustomed to, and with every 24 hours, I only can yearn to view him as somebody I used to know.
Somebody messed up. The soul he possessed was not configured in a way to transcript words of hate. His soul wasn’t intended to be tormented with, yet the plentiful mounds of anguish became a notorious representation of his character. Yet to the innocent eyes I once possessed, I saw the jubilant child who prized running around the house in only his Blue’s Clue’s underwear that talked to himself, and as he pranced my purity was confused with questions fogging the vision pondering “Why is he talking to himself Mommy?” A question that only received one answer, he is special.
A three word response. He is special. A response that was meant to act as a catalyst to my innocent mind, yet provided little to no explanation. What was special? Wasn’t three year old Maddie special? She loved coloring books, singing nursery rhymes, and mingling with her fellow peers. Was my brother’s obsessive tendencies and constant viewing of Spongebob Squarepants in Spanish make him unique? I wanted to be special like him, yet little to my awareness though, I would learn to resent the taunting three word response in which would expose the darkness my innocence was veiled from.
My conscious wasn’t aware of the rigorous emotions that the two syllable word would be accompanied with. I wasn’t aware of the violence, the heartache, tears, and emotional turmoil that would be uncovered when the veil of purity was snatched. The salty tears that slipped from his glossy forest green eyes held the happiness and joy I once perceived, and unleashed the angst and vexation my childhood had been concealed from. He wasn’t the same boy; I wasn’t the same girl. He embraced a new persona, one of unpredictability and slight fear, yet deep down within him, there was the boy I used to know.
The newfound revelation I had developed was one I wished to resent. I wanted my life to return to the idolization of a normal boy who accompanied me while building our cardboard box huts, or the boy who forgot his prized teddy bear “Bluey” in a Cracker Barrel during a road trip which had to be returned back home. I wanted the hazed perception I now held for this special boy to be eradicated, along with the venomous lies that would expel from his obscured mind. I wanted my brother back, a request denied.
Somebody messed up. The soul he possessed was not configured in a way to transcript words of hate. His soul wasn’t intended to be tormented with, yet the plentiful mounds of anguish became a notorious representation of his character. Yet to the innocent eyes I once possessed, I saw the jubilant child who prized running around the house in only his Blue’s Clue’s underwear that talked to himself, and as he pranced my purity was confused with questions fogging the vision pondering “Why is he talking to himself Mommy?” A question that only received one answer, he is special.
A three word response. He is special. A response that was meant to act as a catalyst to my innocent mind, yet provided little to no explanation. What was special? Wasn’t three year old Maddie special? She loved coloring books, singing nursery rhymes, and mingling with her fellow peers. Was my brother’s obsessive tendencies and constant viewing of Spongebob Squarepants in Spanish make him unique? I wanted to be special like him, yet little to my awareness though, I would learn to resent the taunting three word response in which would expose the darkness my innocence was veiled from.
My conscious wasn’t aware of the rigorous emotions that the two syllable word would be accompanied with. I wasn’t aware of the violence, the heartache, tears, and emotional turmoil that would be uncovered when the veil of purity was snatched. The salty tears that slipped from his glossy forest green eyes held the happiness and joy I once perceived, and unleashed the angst and vexation my childhood had been concealed from. He wasn’t the same boy; I wasn’t the same girl. He embraced a new persona, one of unpredictability and slight fear, yet deep down within him, there was the boy I used to know.
The newfound revelation I had developed was one I wished to resent. I wanted my life to return to the idolization of a normal boy who accompanied me while building our cardboard box huts, or the boy who forgot his prized teddy bear “Bluey” in a Cracker Barrel during a road trip which had to be returned back home. I wanted the hazed perception I now held for this special boy to be eradicated, along with the venomous lies that would expel from his obscured mind. I wanted my brother back, a request denied.