There are times when I look at people and see imitations of human behavior. My Brother is an example of this; I look at him now and try to see the flesh and the blood (preferably including a brain and a heart) but all I see is glass. Glass that can be placed in an oven to remould and reheat yet remains opaque. Where is that boy I knew, that kind laughing boy? He is eight years gone, buried deep inside, so far that no real part of him is now visible. I look into his eyes sometimes, and have to look away before I hear that voice or see a shadow. I try to remain distant, not to get too close, but seeing him as he is now is devastating. We used to play games together (me, Ashley, Maria and Kim), Dugeons and Dragons even, orchestrated by my step-dad. I hope that now he has left the House he will smash his glass exterior, and become the Brother I once knew.

I wish for a simpler life. One which did not deliver punches with such ferocity. The Victories that I earn are also as such. Why is life like that? Why can one thing that hurts so much be tempered by such elation?

27/04/1995

Birthdays hold significance. At least some do. I feel that, as I push my fingers down into the carpet. My drawings are still there. On the wall. Small scribbles, smiley faces and stars, they are faded. Bleached lighter with the passing of the years and the sun. I always thought that the space under-the-stairs was my own, a hidey hole for my secret thoughts and things, shared only with a friend. Words have been bleached too, changed ; at least my interpretation of those words has. Like the word friend. Friend is now a different word, with a different meaning than that of a decade ago. At six, the world had a magic sheen, a lustre. I could see the magic behind a fragment of broken blue bottle glass, a piece of foil. Books still hold that magic. So happy Sixteenth Birthday to me, and may everything change again and again and again.