In Theory. What Is Love?

By Jordan Alexander Ford

Six years after his brother was tragically murdered, Jay Arthos King is living in Havensdale, a small neighborhood in Queens, New York. During the daylight, he sits by the window while working to preserve his spirit, good health, and an enduring power. At night, he dreams of a homeland and a sky where there are many worlds.

While reflecting on his brother’s life and death, his own existence, and his relationship with his loving companion of five years, a grief-stricken Jay contemplates the inner workings of the mind, the power of the heart to create things the world has never known, and how, in the shadows of pain, one can create a new way to live, heal, and be. Even as he spends the majority of his days by the window, Jay feels an urge to learn more about life, the world around him, and love. As he transforms into a thinking man, Jay becomes devoted to forever learning and understanding as he determinedly attempts to find a path forward without his brother.

In Theory. What Is Love? is the poignant story of a young man’s journey of self-discovery after his brother is tragically murdered.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: May 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665722872

Jordan Alexander Ford

Jordan Alexander Ford was born and raised in New York. He has a passion for telling stories and hopes to one day create a series of books that address healing from trauma and surviving. Jordan currently resides in Queens, New York. In Theory: What Is Love? is his first book.

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Copyright © 2022 Jordan Alexander Ford.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Scripture quotations taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version® NIV® Copyright © 1973 1978 1984 2011 by Biblica, Inc. TM. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2286-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-2287-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022908088

Archway Publishing rev. date: 05/05/2022

Contents

Act One

Act Two

Act Three

This book is in

dedication to our living life, for

the old and young. Living or dead. For the air we

breathe, it should be said, it’s been a privilege.

For a history to our memory. There were those who were born who gathered to a feeling. Was a wish upon a star made for our tomorrow’s. Forethought, is the living dream. In this unseen infinity of an ocean, there’s a connection of unseen webs under a sky. In the sight of this comes many presences of those who are trying to make sense of things that can’t be seen. To make sense of stars. In this ocean there are many things that can be offered. To be impractical. To be indifferent. To explore every impossibility of our imaginations, to dare to know of its purposes. If we dared to imagine, for all of our hopes. For all of our dreams. To find the one thing we’ve been looking for. As if left behind for a purpose, to be found again. It could be legendary. Could a treasure map prove we were the ones we were looking for, to know of what’s becoming of us in the most extraordinary of ways, in a commonplace. Together. We could find anything.

For the love of family and friends. For Dads. For Moms. For Brothers. For Sisters.

To Godspeed. Be with you.

Prologue

In this morning light of us being alive. A life was lost. A heart lost its beat. A voice speaks to an anguish of who it could be. Was this God calling for us to breathe more deeply into this moment. In the living of our life. On the day it comes to an end, will we get a chance to know what sorry really means. For an old friend, in memory, there are parts of you that still exist. The parts of you instilled in my heart, made from a long time ago. Made from the earliest of our beginnings. Nothing was left behind of you. Moments of us are still being seen ahead of me. In the wake of another morning light, the future speaks unto a soul, of all the things we didn’t get to see. Something was left in our past, it’s still being seen ahead of me, to be a king forever. To bring foolishness to the heart, to try and be naive. From the silencing of a heart comes the knowing of what pain can bring. Here’s something for thought, it’s consequential, to blame things that are in the grand scheme of our lives. In dreams there’s something to believe in, to believe in things that can’t be seen. It’s a list of things to add too, then the reasons why for it. For some things are ideal to be naive in, to try and be foolish in the times of missing someone. For kings and queens, to hold onto a belief. To fall in love of a hope. That maybe something will find each other again. In the distance of life, it will give us something more than words could ever teach us. In this distance, some things may be gone. For the love of hope, in our future, there are some things we can drop our armor too. To this, a voice speaks of the unseen of dreams, of the invisible. To say, I’m here in this imperfection, to pray for a hope in the still workings of God. I hope it could be heard, for some things, they could be deeply appreciated. In the grand scheme of intangible things, there’s an unseen voice telling of its purpose.

Six years after the death of my brother.

From something happening during the summer five years ago, Jay Arthos King is sitting inside the warmth of his home. In a room, by a window, at a table.

I wish to write a word on dreams. As one grows older, I speak a word as a member of society. It has come down to my experience. Above all, from age, it has a great deal with that too.

From summer to winter my eyes have rested on the skylines of buildings on the horizon.

I wish to write a word about dreams.

The meaning of its nature.

In my life, I have come to say, I have found a companion walking in an inhabitant and a wilderness.

As evening approaches, sometimes we don’t want to be still, outdoors there’s a freedom. In part to a place of a city, the outside inhabits occupations, the I have to do list, it serves members equally contrasted to poets and travelers.

In this course of my life, I have met one who understands the art of reading. One who sees the genius in how to speak from the mind.

From idle movements comes the objects under stars which are a part of The Ocean.

I wish to write a word about dreams.

A dream is the outline of a home. In a good sense, a home is everywhere. Even on the peaks of the mountains in our horizons.

In my slumber, there has been a homeland being seen. Seen equally the same as the summer and winter skylines of buildings in a city near a horizon.

Where in the sky there are many worlds. Where these worlds are living amongst a star. Suspended alive inside of a sphere of water, rock, and air. That is living.

In what cannot be seen, there is something unseen, in thought, it should be a place regarded as real.

In the depths of this old world, within this homeland. There is a crusade that has been started from the beginning of its past. Going forth, to conquer a land of a particular home. There are champions of civilized knights, of the old.

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Act One

Living in a small neighborhood of Queens, New York. There’s a home alongside the intersection of a highway. A small neighborhood called Havensdale. Under the distant endless sky, there’s never any clouds in sight, it’s quieter than most other neighborhoods in the United States of America.

As I have awoken from my slumbers. During the hours of my days, I preserve my spirit, my good health, to the knowing of an astonishment. Of a power that is being endured. In the chambers of my mind, as I sit by the window, I’ve given much thought of how slowly a few months turned into a year. I’ve had reason enough too.

As I’ve spent whole days by the windows, a day has come that we never thought could come. Someone has died.

As days on a calendar have turned from seconds, minutes and hours.

Turned into months and years.

My mind has seen things, while dreaming, remembered in its awakening. In the twilight of a dream, comes the beginning of many worlds. It’s possible to know of things unseen. Sitting by a window, I begin work again, from nine o’clock in the morning till five o’clock in the afternoon. Ready for sleep by nine o’clock at night, to be awake again at five o’clock in the morning. A dream is beginning again in between, where many worlds are being brought together inside of a dream. In the realms of the unreal.

In the twilight of one dream, is where many worlds are being made, in the distance of one sun.

As the sun rises, it takes light eight minutes to be seen over the world. At the very beginning when this world was first made, before its very beginning. Nothing could be seen for millions of years. In the millions of years of this darkness, it created many myths and many stories. In each and every one story, it tells of a home that shines in darkness. Surrounded by water, living on a rock. Where something was able to affect the spaces around it. The same thing happened somewhere else in the sky. In its own beginning.

I’ve lived in the neighborhood of Havensdale since I was a kid, it’s grown enigmatic there throughout the air. There’s a common feeling that’s giving a shade of dusk to this place. It’s been compelling for some neighbors to move away throughout the years.

As I drove to work one day today, the sky was endless again. The air was cool enough to keep the windows down. I’d given much thought to how my life was going. The bills were paid. The refrigerator was filled with food. The car always has gas in it.

At work, I sit by a window in a small office. I hold a breath to staring out of a window, an thought to myself of what is being imagined, a dream of a life is being foretold, telling of a world that is beyond the sky.

For my companion and I.

She and I.

We have made a discovery of ourselves by accident. Of all the things that could happen in a small neighborhood across America. A prominent college student had transferred to Columbia University to become a journalist in Manhattan. She moved to the city in the wake of losing someone she thought was her soulmate. As she boarded a plane, she thought of a place she never wanted to come back to again. So she flew somewhere far away.

For fate can bring two things together, unaware of each other. Until the blackout in the year two thousand and three had happened.

On an early Monday morning, I woke up one month after the day it did. I thought about how a random blackout had helped me find the companion next to me. After five years now, peacefully sleeping, wearing her red silk pajamas, is her. Iris Nuir Aegle. And as she sleeps, I think of all the possibilities that caused this day to happen. From the very beginning, just as it did, till now, to know of how we first met.

At twenty three years old, she couldn’t sit still. She was wondering of something to do, so she decided to leave her apartment and go for a walk in Manhattan. Thinking of a life which was lost, I had decided to do the same thing. From way across the neighborhood of Queens, New York. By bus, then train. Thinking to myself nothing would happen out of nowhere. So I put on an old pair of sneakers. They had lasted a few years.

Then something did.

Randomly, two people decided for some peculiar reason to go to a comic book shop. I’ve grown amazed at all that can happen in a day. When we first saw each other, as she still is now. Short, a head full of black curls. A golden brown girl who has a sharp pair of dark brown eyes which can see through you.

I wondered what part of the world she had come from. Across a common country as vast as this. There are places more naturally occurring than this, to be a place of meeting. A comic book shop, amongst any other place in the country.

Two people who were on idle time decided in the course of their life of a fixed destination. Unaware of what they were doing. They decided to wander in the city of Manhattan.

As I have spent deep thought going back and forth in my mind about it. Here at work, it has helped me manage grievances after the death of my brother. Sitting in an office, as I have for a few years now. I’ve seen strangers walking by, coming and going, from summer to winter.

Six years ago I was a pallbearer at my brother’s funeral.

In another part of the country. A common country. My older brother had decided to go to college in another state. I don’t know how he could leave a place like this, his family and friends are all here. He decided to live in a place where he has to fend for himself, in a place where he knows no one. Iris had said it’s natural for some people to move to other places around the country, places that are supposed to be seen as new.

Before he left, the two years before he died. In the year of two thousand, he said of how he would come home every summer and winter break. The holidays too. As often as he could. Especially whenever the college was closed. From New York to Los Angeles, it’s a six hour plane ride. Driving by car takes one day. I hugged him for a second before he left, then my parents drove him to the airport.

He was gone.

Flying has bothered me for some time now, you never know when a plane could just come down out of the sky. One of those things they say is improbable.

As the days on a calendar turn into months and years. There is something that should be universally acknowledged. As the sun tells us the time. As the moon tells us the days. I write stories of my life while sitting by a window in a room on a page.

As I sit here at work, sitting by a window, I see strangers walking by. There’s an ending to a season that sets on my brother’s life. As I sit by the windows, thinking deeply, strangers are walking by, of all walks of life.

From getting ready for walks.

Half walks.

Full walks.

Retracing steps in the direction they came in.

Just walking.

Coming and going.

A day goes on.

As a stranger myself. Seeing walks of life passing by, coming and going. I thought deeply to myself, going back and forth, with thoughts, just as thoughts do.

For everything there is a season.

And in this season, my heart was burned. Being plunged into the darkest of storms. Into the darkest of nights. The coldest winter frozen over in the deep abyss one’s soul could feel.

The Great Famine of Estonia lasted for about two years. The newspapers back then had reported the temperatures had dropped one point five degrees celsius. A little ice age freezing over everything it blew over.

Lake Constance.

Lake Zurich.

A glass of water could be poured, momentarily, it would freeze over as if it was left sitting in a freezer all night. There weren’t any back then, it was sixteen ninety six.

The day I lost my brother. I lost my best friend, my other half and a part of my soul. There was an ache. The chances of what happened that day are improbable, as improbable as playing and winning the lottery in a state of four million people. It even made the news. Breaking story, this just in, a man was shot and killed on South Sixth Street and Catshaw Boulevard. The suspects have not yet been apprehended and police are urging residents in the neighborhood to be cautious. When the report came on, my brother and his girlfriend were living together at their home at the time. As she wasn’t watching the news as it was on, she could overhear the narration to the story as she was just over in the kitchen. It was broadcasted live right after it happened, by a news anchor in Los Angeles. It was just another incident, it happened. Another headline that made a story. He didn’t come back to their home later that afternoon and she hadn’t heard from him all day either. His body was identified on the scene, not being addressed publicly to the public, Justus Sol King.

Since his closest family is here, in another state, his girlfriend wasn’t aware of what had happened to him yet. Over here, his family was being told all about it. Of all of what had happened to him. His girlfriend had found out eventually though, having me be the one to call and tell it to her. It was dreaded what had to be heard. She broke down on the other end of the phone call. My mother was the first one to receive the call from the Los Angeles Police Department. She was in her room peacefully enjoying herself. Sitting in a rocking chair watching a television show. It was on Monday, the month of February, in the year of two thousand and two. On the twenty-fifth day of the month.

My brother was caught in the moment of being in the wrong place, at the wrong time. For certain, I know he lived a just life.

Two weeks or so before my brother’s life was taken away in a senseless murder. In an act of cold blood. It was Valentine’s Day. During the morning before, he spent it talking to me over the phone, of how he planned for his girlfriend’s day. As he would call it.

He became really enthusiastic about learning all of history, the stories that are being told from one generation to the next.

Specifically.

How those stories are being told. It was important to him, one of the many reasons why he studied in journalism. It’s respected for its impact in an instance. To be defined by random events.

Every minute is of time honored.

As with any distribution of a profession, in the multitudes of one medium. Communication is the background of our senses, it brings a social responsibility, of an education in a person that brings literature and history.

This is an ever changing world that’s revolving.

The words we tell become sacred to people.

Broadcasting across the country regions are stations of public speeches, newspapers and telegraphs.

It’s not just the news.

Justus, he told me plenty of times, a story can be very powerful. To be able to influence someone by the use of words. To tell the news that gets broadcasted around the world, for years. It could be a painful shock, a truth or a blessing that was just witnessed under the sky.

Learning of the past civilizations, it tells us of everything that has passed by.

The history that has survived.

The centuries.

To him.

It meant.

It meant beating the test of the times.

Metaphors could bring stories to life.

Turned to stone from the sight of Medusa’s eyes, no longer bound to time. Now watching with time, they fade with age. The expressions on their faces, there’s a strong gaze. Forever the stone person, forever standing in their place.

Timeless.

Some of his favorites were reading the Adventures of Odysseus, he retold those stories as if he was Homer, so many times, like if he just read it for the first time yesterday.

He spoke in a dialect. A language.

Clinging to his words I can interrelate what he spoke, to be put together as intelligible as possible. They repeat to sound like something of the same alliteration.

We sound the same, something as twins.

Words can have a double meaning. To be able to communicate thoughts of a speech pattern is a sound that demonstrates one’s own language. A thought adopted from a question, then answered, being spoken in puns. In Theory. What is Love? It’s a rhythm of its meaning, from beginning to end, you’ll just get it.

From the time of our birth, came the positioning of our lives, under a star. The potential that life can bring, can we go beyond?

The influence of unknown moments. Revolving the things that came into being. Written in the sky are the sayings of all things, it’s happening. The ancient past talks about great civilizations. Pharaohs, great kings and great queens.

From the otherside.

Risen again. There’s a kingdom where a soul comes to be born again.

A bloodline holds the seed of life.

Brothers.

To think of you is to think of me.

You and I.

As I recollect my years and days it would be hard not to recollect yours. Born of two things with different birthdays, what I am fortunate enough to embrace.

Made of two things unseen under celestial objects.

It’s moving.

From bonds made before flesh, prophetic can be declared of our beginnings.

Why would I ever think of an ending, you’re still gone too soon.

From the ground we grow as seeds. Light and life. Being brought forth from the harvest of our earth again. Rise and shine till the night again, till we sleep again. In our tree of life are what these words can speak unto you, that this spirit of life has great branches.

Godly is the mortal to a soul.

Bonds will never end.

The essence of us is made of an energy, an energy that’s burning. Just as the sun. It’s our astronomical phenomenon. Black holes can absorb one. Stars of magnificent sizes. To merge with it.

Grow with it.

The massiveness of its immensity is a vortex of pure energy that’s spiraling. Being twisted as a tornado, merging into one thing. Induced is the creation of a centered disruption. A creation at the fabric of us. What’s greater than us is the size of the greatest of suns. Infinitely small amongst giants of monumental sizes.

Suns and neutron stars.

They say at the center of each galaxy there’s a black hole. Inside of every blackhole, there’s a universe. In a word. The universe, to be thought, is how a word can say everything through the wind of everything which has come to be known. The totality of an existence. The universe, in word, is everything that exists and everything that shall be known to exist. Energy, it could be converted from one thing and into another. Being shifted over from this pain is something else. A feeling made of love, to be grateful is one of the easiest things to have. For those who care about you, this is for the health of family and friends.

Life, it can bring us fates of undistinguished events that bring us no logic of its circumstances. For this, there’s a belief that’s building, to believe in what you can’t see. To believe in what you can’t touch, smelling things that you’re not breathing. It’s becoming everything you need.

A boundary that has no escape.

What’s still possible is that we exist. The human body, it’s incomprehensible of the strength it can endure. What’s evident in life is to know of its changes. In the name of us, it comes in seasons. It can be as white as snow, or as black as the night sky. Nothing is promised, not for tomorrow, nor for today. To ask the most for today, to feel a heartbeat, to breathe, to be the very thing you can’t see. There are miracles that are happening. More than physical. This goes beyond our psych, beyond the limits of impossibilities of what could be. The hardening of the heart means there will be a melting of the heart. The sands will be gold alongside the wilderness streaming with rivers. We can’t know what’s meant to be unknowable. When two things become one, it’s the merging of the light and dark. Of the things unseen.

The law of a beginning.

Our body is a communication system that is perceiving sensations. Integration is important in this living system. To be aware of our feelings in the nervous system as the body responds to internal and external environmental changes.

Moving at godspeeds.

Nerves were operating in happiness, the feeling comes with great respect. A life was lost. The whole of something that has existed.

A body was damaged.

The essence of something can always remain. Eyes are able to convert light into energy, it goes throughout the body, in each one of our cells. It’s passing through. At light speeds, as our memories have a mechanism that can be duplicated.

Eye to eye.

Mind to mind

Soul to soul.

The mind can recover all events, all memories. It could be lived out, just as mine. Surrounded by a sensory, superior is its details, to smell, to feel, even to see. It’s all inherited. Maybe this is nature’s way of saying I’m sorry in the most dearest of ways. To be able to recall names, to know things that go beyond one’s existence. There’s even changes in a personality that can even start to happen, it’s a whole nother life that’s being perceived. It could be lived out, while doing something else, at the same time.

Energy and memory.

Flashbacks and echoing.

A life should bring happiness, the truest of any thought. To always be in the middle, the interaction of the future and the past.

The pain of what happened could be heard by someone else, somewhere, just listening. A relationship could come into being of what has already existed, from another time. When we lose a part of ourselves, it becomes a phantom pain of what it originally lost, a feeling. To feel and know what is missing, our bodies become aware of our physical and psychological changes. Love was found, within the body, to have met in a place that we come from.

Were we where all along.

At a loss, a system goes into confusion, responding to what it’s becoming aware of, something is missing.

Phantom sensations.

They can be felt around the body.

A connection was lost, nerves were severed. Over time, they’ll be rewired back together. Somewhat normal. It’s just me, in my body.

A soul can become a part of us, its energy is immeasurable. It can be felt within our hearts. You can’t be seen. You’re still being felt.

In the wind, there is love.

As there’s still proof of you when I walk as we are miracles founded upon inspiration, written in inscriptions across the sky. On a park bench one day I was left pondering, I have to go the distance and it could ache when I walk. The small distances from work and home.

The mind, it’s not the body, nor is it the brain. What happens in the body is unseen, there’s another experience that’s happening.

I’m not my body. And life is not of our own.

From my eyes through yours, where souls are watching. What’s happening around me. Inside of me. This is something that needs details.

My life is being observed through something else.

They say when people pass over, or even come close to it, some might call it a near death experience. The body, the mind, it could still have an experience. Some completely different glimpse of some perceived reality.

There’s an inbetween.

There’s a connection that’s still happening here, it’s someplace else, elsewhere. Imagine being able to see into the invisible, outer body experiences of a personal awareness. We can go places, here or there. Wherever we desire.

I’m learning from experiences that are coming from somewhere else. There are things I can’t learn or be taught by myself, experiences that aren’t mine. All that can be said, it’s coming from someplace else, elsewhere. Across a world or across a galaxy. There’s an unknown side to this life where some things might be possible.

If we can visit places that can’t be seen. Of places still being perceived in front of me. What’s really in front of me?

For thought.

Thoughts can travel faster than the speed of light, to another side. There’s an awareness coming from a mind that something more is happening, from the within to the without. Words, thoughts and awareness, it’s going beyond our bodies. In the possession of our minds comes the words of another world. As eyes follow, words have the power to bring out what we tell ourselves, in silence are those who have been absent from our lives. Over time.

Memories filled with joy instilled in my heart.

Waves that are ceaseless in dreams of inner thoughts.

What goes on behind my expectations? A conversation may have the power to transcend across time and space. To imply what could be seen. It’s the intuitive influence of sensations, to feel, to hear, to see. Head, hands, arms and feet, it all speaks. To be missing what’s crucial is a conversation. Something that gives you a real sense of what’s right in front of you. Unseen, there’s an interaction happening, it’s tactile, sensory filled with senses having conversations. It’s speaking of everything we’re doing. Leaving your home, holding your cup tightly while standing in line somewhere, or even talking to yourself, with your thoughts.

There’s a feeling being brought with it, it can’t be seen. It wants to restore a sense of what was lost. It’s been pulling, trying to come closer and closer.

Through the air a voice speaks, there are dreams of us driving through galaxies at Godspeeds, of what a way to be. To be thought about decades from now is the extraordinary innovation of living astrological biomechanics. Something is growing, developing with excitement. A godbody of what’s unseen. When two things are interfacing on a bridge, with no gap in between. Two bodies, made of two souls. A synthesis is converting, revolving and connecting. The rewiring of nerves can bring a feeling.

Revolving inside of me is a world of engineering, where many actions are a literal intuitive process that’s working. A place where living biomechanics operate inside of an embodiment. Phantom pains become healing nerves.

The other side brings an emotion that’s being tapped into, a sound is being expressed into words. A lively sense of this conversation, it’s accepting the manner of all that has happened. In the time that has been in passing, it was fundamental to read good things, made of good speaking. A material that can be spoken addressing an audience of a reader’s thoughts. All occasions. They speak of something. A passage that’s echoing all that is happening, you and me, the conversation that this is turning out to be.

In a few moments will be the delivery of an ordinary conversation, resembling a vague dream. Interpreted through words being acted out in personifications of impersonations, to be said is one thing, to have the goodest of days, it’s all that we can hold onto. It’s what has been desired. To a full realization, that you are the words of a book and the content that’s inside of it, the uttering of these spoken words is the lively sense of our communication. Composed inside of us are thoughts made from emotions, to the respect of what’s inside of me, all that could be in front of me.

Legends.

Rule the world with me. Reign supreme.

In the underworld there’s a firmament that’s vast of an endlessly deep ocean, it’s somehow bringing things together, out of chaos. Looking into the constellations, we’re sunk below light years. Where there’s an immensity coming from under this internal burning. As this world is attached to stars, there are giants and gods that move things to life across the sky.

Supernatural is the magic.

To believe.

To find yourself is nothing absurd to the supernatural.

As known to me, for history, we were born to be.

Relative to me, is this battle inside of the dark. Made in the shadow of a powerful light. The Darkside Of A Rising Sun.

In the innermost of our wounds, there’s a true healing factor we can find.

Pure potential is the movement of stars, to know of things we wish we could predict. Heavenly bodies and mortal souls of human beings, the objects under the sky, with gravity, could we hope to change a destiny.

Moving in a mystery, we play the game of life, so we roll the dice.

We have the ability to affect movements, situations with forces that can match up to the entire world. Embedded to a sense is this, my brother. There’s not too much of a gap between us. Made of the same molding is the two us, the sibling that did things together, bringing things together. The thoughts of a life that should go around everywhere. An upbringing that’s made of a sense, that we were created from a burning. The phases of our youngest years, we brought a quarrel to the world. Our play was going on.

It was fun, we joked.

If we raced, we could be compelled to go faster and faster. Behind dust. We’d never leave each other behind. We’ll stay close, engaged forever together, till forever. We’ll always be together.

One day I’ll have my own career and a home. A family of my own. While we were growing up, we saw mistakes and then avoided mistakes. They helped make the decisions in our life. The younger brother that’s trying to see the world through his older brother’s eyes. A peer and a role model. I was taught we could do anything together. The most influential thing that’s instilled in me for a drive to improve myself. To look back at a value that brought things to life. My life lessons from a great person I was taught. I’m faced with a challenge that has shattered a soul. Pieces of my brother’s life.

Mind to mind. Body to body. Soul to soul.

Of all of what is inside of me. A mind can be a terrible thing to waste.

When two become one comes a thought for more.

After grief and pain, a memory is what remains of a time when we watched a football game together. It was late on a Thursday night. Inside of a home where friends and family sit on couches and chairs. Getting ready for the game which isn’t just any game.

It’s the rivalry of our favorite teams.

The silencing of a mind in a loud room is this visual perception in reading, it gives our senses what is true. That these aren’t just words on a page, that they are becoming