The Wrinkle On His Forehead

I look at him. He’s so fragile. He’s got a wrinkle on his forehead. So serious. He was like a little brother. So skinny and with a huge smile on his face. I remember when we were kids and we used to play together. He taught me how to make paper airplanes. Does he remember that? He was my buddy.

We’ve been living separate lives for so long. We’ve lost contact for too long. Thousands of miles between us. Time drew us apart but it couldn’t erase this feeling of protection I have towards him.

I look at him. He’s so fragile. He’s got a wrinkle on his forehead. So serious. So sad. Something’s bothering him. But what? There’s something different. My little brother grew up so fast and so distant from me. A 16-year-old teenager to the outside world but a man for those who know him.

We were very behaved – near our parents, otherwise things would get critical –  but when people allowed us to be kids was when he had fun at the utmost. Much more than just a kid is what he has become. He still has that huge smile on his face and sure he still tries to make everyone laugh like he did when we were kids. But there’s something different about him.

I look at him. He’s so fragile. Even though he’s smiling I still see that wrinkle on his forehead. So serious. So grown-up. I’m sure there’s something wrong. No, I can’t be the only one to see that. His heart, where is it? He’s given it away to some one else. But to whom?

That’s why he writes his most urgent pleads and desires in a Shakespearean kind of way. He’s in love. He’s consumed by the most hurtful, altruistic and beautiful feeling there is. Maybe she doesn’t see it. Maybe she doesn’t want it. I really don’t know but all I wanted to do is put my arms around his shoulder like I used to when we were kids and stare at nothing in complete silence. I just want him to know he’s not alone. I just want him to know he’s not the only one.

When I look at him I see that little boy I met years ago, the boy who didn’t have that wrinkle on his forehead.