Because I love you. The final words you should hear...

I've just learned (and am still reeling) that my beautiful, stupid younger brother killed himself when he was 16 (that was 4 years ago, and I'm 22). His last words were "Because I love you." (He texted it to my best friend, his then girlfriend.) Our parents told me that he died because he was stressed out about exams. <br><br><br><br>Because I love you. Because I love you. Because I love you.<br><br><br><br>I know why he might have said that. I know why he killed himself. I can't help but wonder if I did something wrong. I can't help but wish I'd been given more time, just a few more godforsaken days. When we were younger, our parents would punish us by locking us in separate rooms. We always hated that, because we'd never argue much during childhood except for fighting over who got to be the father and who got to be the daughter (he wanted to be the daughter, I was too shy for him and was happy to be the father). Once, when my parents put us in separate rooms I shouted, "I hate you!" And he shouted back, "I love you too!"<br><br><br><br>He was an idiot stupid younger brother. He was so much like me. He was so much like me that I had to leave college last year when my parents ran out of money (They say it's because my brother died, but I know it's because I'm an idiot stupid younger brother stupidly in love with my older sister). <br><br><br><br>I was so afraid of his love that I left home and refused to go back. He sent me pictures of his empty room, of his empty bed, of my empty chair. He sent pictures of the two of us, but with his face scratched out, and then with mine scratched out as well. He sent pictures of himself napping, but I never saw a single picture of him asleep without a smile on his face. I never saw a single picture of him that didn't make me smile. And then I realized that the same was true for real life, and then I realized that life wasn't real, that life was better than real, that life was just the funny pictures he'd send me. <br><br><br>Eventually I started going back home, and eventually I started napping again, and eventually I started dreaming again, and then I realized that younger brothers don't nap on their own. So I napped with him, napped like him like I always had: the way our parents had punished us by locking us in separate rooms, the way he'd always shout, "I love you too!" So I shouted, "I hate you!" And he shouted back, "I love you too!"<br><br><br>I'll never forget the first time we made love. He was 13 and I was 19. He waited for me out on the porch, though I'd told him I wouldn't be home for the holidays that year. He waited for me out on the porch, and I waited for him. I was shivering, and he was beaming. He was beaming with pride, because he knew exactly what we were doing, because his love was better than his younger love, because he'd grown stronger and more beautiful, because he was so much like me, because he'd learned to always nap together. <br><br><br><br>So I let out a shriek, and he let out a gasp, because we'd never reacted that way to sex before. And we never did afterwards. No matter how much we loved each other, no matter how much stupid love younger brothers have for their older sisters, no matter how many times we made love, no matter how many better naps we took together, we never reacted like that again. <br><br><br>I always hated it when he called me his napper. I always hated it when he called me his big stupid sister. But I never let him know, because he knew better than I did. So we'd nap together, better than napping, better like sleeping, better like dreaming, better like love. <br><br><br>I never called him my sleeper. I never called him my little brother. But I never let him know why, either. I never wanted him to know. So we'd nap together, and then we'd nap together some more, and then we'd nap together better still, and then we'd nap together forever. <br><br><br>And when I'd finish napping, I'd wake him up gently, and he'd wake up with a big smile on his face, and I'd realize that I'd never woken younger brothers up gently before. I'd never woken younger brothers up at all, because I was an older sister, and he was a younger brother, and napping naps was the only thing that I truly knew how to do best. <br><br><br>I never watched him nap, but I never looked away either. I never watched him nap because he was so much like me. I never watched him nap because he was so beautiful. <br><br><br><br>So I'd shoo him away, telling him to nap some more, and telling him to nap better, and telling him to nap more beautifully. And he'd shoo me away too, telling me to nap with him, to nap more like him, to nap more beautifully than him, and to nap without him because nap time is lonely time, and lonelier naps are better naps. <br><br><br>Those were his words. Not mine. His. I never shooed him away like that. I never told him to nap more beautifully than me. I never told him to nap more beautifully than anyone. I never told him to nap at all. That was his words. I never said that. I never said anything. I never said a thing. I never. <br><br><br>So I never knew what to say. I never knew what to do. I never knew what to do because I never knew what to say. I never knew anything, except I knew he was so damn beautiful. I never knew anything, except I knew he was so damn sexy. <br><br><br>In the end, what we did was nap together. In the end, what we said was nap together. In the end, what we did was nap together. In the end, what we did was nap more beautifully, more beautifully than anyone else. <br><br><br>And so I never slept. And so I never dreamt. And so I never woke up. And I never slept. And I never dreamt. And I never woke up. But until the end, when we'd finally reached a nap so beautiful, so lonelier than any nap before, so more beautiful than any nap after, until then, I never knew better naps than younger brother naps. Until then, I never realized that life wasn't real, that life was just the funny pictures he'd send me. <br><br><br>And now I never sleep. And now I never dream. And now I never wake up. Now I never sleep because I never realized that life was just the funny pictures he'd send me. Now I never dream because I never realized that younger brothers stupidly in love with their older younger brothers have no idea how to nap. Now I never wake up because I never realized that life was just the empty room, the empty bed, the empty chair that he'd send me. <br><br><br>I never realized anything. I never realized that life wasn't real. I never realized that younger brothers stupidly in love with their older younger brothers have no idea how to nap. I never realized that life was better than real. I never realized that life was just the funny pictures he'd send me. I never realized that life was just the empty room, the empty bed, the empty chair that he'd send me.<br><br><br>Because I love you. Because I love you. Because I love you.<br><br> <br><br>EDIT: He was actually 19 years old when he died. He'd just turned 19. It was his 19th birthday. It was my 27th birthday. Happy birthday to me.