Sometimes when a brother says, “I love you,” he doesn’t use words.
Instead, while you sleep with a worn out gut, he surrounds you with loose pillows, two red and a white, and finalizes your private hut with a laundry basket above your head.
He becomes a detail man.
He arranges your scarf like a door mat and places car magazines just within reach so you can peruse them the first chance you open your eyes.
He sits back, then adds the Go Fish cards still in their ziploc.
In all this he’s as quiet as a cobweb.
But let me tell you, dear daughter…the hands and heart of your brother are thumping…I-LOVE-YOU, SIS…I-LOVE-YOU…
If only you could hear.