Did I ever truly notice him, my supposed little brother? Did I take him, absentmindedly, selfish-mindedly, for granted? Or did he, all that time, simply not mean much to me? I don’t know, if that’s the case, why I miss him like I do. Why I wish I’d swum across that river, which I’ve never, when I think about it, done for anyone. I just don’t know.
