to Jack

Jack, do you remember when

I used to tell you long, wild stories that I made up on the spot?

you’d beg for me to tell you a story

and I’d pretend I didn’t want to

but it actually thrilled me that you liked them

Jack, do you remember when

we played with stuffed animals and imagined entire worlds of characters and

adventures for them to undertake?

they all had backstories and magical powers

and cats were siblings of horses

Jack, do you remember how

I’d sleep on your floor when visitors came, so they could use my bed?

you loved it because I’d sing you to sleep

with a questionable rendition of “Run for the Roses”

and I secretly liked it too

and Jack, you know how now

you’re in college and I’m about to graduate and commission into the Navy?

when did we get so old?

our days of make believe and stories

and bikes in the cul-de-sac seem so far away

but Jack, you know how

we’re just as close as ever, if not closer?

how now we watch horror movies and stay up late playing video games

when we’re both home on break

and when we’re not

we text and call and visit each other and get excited for the next season

of the TV shows we watch together

all this to say, Jack, that

even as we grow up

I’m so grateful to have you in my corner

and even in the years to come

you’ll always be one of my best friends

and even though you’re half a foot taller than me

you’ll always be my little brother