Today, I missed my brothers. To be fair, I think I always miss them. Time and life have spread us thinly over the country and our own passions have pushed us even further into our own little seclusions. I always miss that camaraderie. I am often nostalgic for those twilight hours in a the back of a pickup... Yoohoo in hand and 311 on the radio... united in our anger at being born into a world that did not yearn for chivalry as we did. Fighting, for different reasons, all, but still fighting together.
No. Today, I missed them more than that. I missed them because there, I think, was a place that I could go where I did not have to ask for help. They could tell from a punch without conviction, a blade wielded without passion, a blow that never should have landed... that I was wrong... and they would fix it. Because we loved, purely and utterly, without restraint.
Or maybe I did. Perhaps it is an imagined history that I have colored in later, to provide myself with a romantic backstory.
But I do not think so. I believe it is real because of the lightning that shoots through me when I hold sword or spear and can feel my brothers through it. I still have them, little pieces of the Lohans linger in my forms and sword work. They are with me in my dart... in the only thing I ever found that I felt made me as good as those giants... titans, all of them, men who I never felt I could take the measure of.
So I hope that they can take a moment from their busy lives to remember that feeling as well. I hope they remember that time as fondly as I do. It has given me strength at times where I think that, as brittle as I have become, I will surely break...
I feel it as strongly as ever.
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