how pathetic I am in contrast to my brother

How pathetic I am in contrast to my brother

Neatly dressed, in contrast to my frayed rags, my little brother addresses me. I say little brother but he may as well be my big brother. Today he wore a different mask, the mask of wide-open eyes. His tone is clear and his intent is magnanimous. He’d have me believe we were equals, and impressively so-but it simply isn’t the case. In his eyes I see deep empathy-a mixture of decisiveness, benevolence, some pity and a subtle hint of obligatory respect. His laugh disguises a cognitive dissonance of sheer disappointment and not-yet-discarded disbelief in my ineptitude.
As if taking a goat to the slaughter-one whom he cared for deeply-he tenderly leads me to the slaughterhouse, generously tending to my needs, giving me a sense of hope, entertaining my thoughts and disingenuously giving the impression that all things are fine-but deep down knowing well they are not. Among all the figurines, is not hard to see I am broken.
Where one tends to exploit others’ vulnerabilities for one’s own gain, my brother channels his frustration and resentment through love. As I struggle and and thrash in the fray, he is swimming with great strength. When someone is drowning, sometimes it is best to let them drown to save oneself. But he is taking my blows and remaining magnificently afloat all the same. What other choice do I have than to reciprocate his love? Of all my fantasies of death, of all my suffering and discontent, the incapacity to change, of all my weakness and feeble will, what more is another day in the course of a million years?