Purgatory

Him

He leans his face close to mine

Not because he has to, but because he wants to

I breathe in the smell radiating off his body

It smells like my brother; It smells like his soul

I wonder if all good boys smell like this

The smell is thick; I close my eyes and feel its heat on my skin

I think about how my therapist told me that I might not love him

That I might just be using him a substitute for my brother

Filling in the brother-shaped hole in my heart

I try not to think

But it's so hard - and his face is so close

Phoebe takes a picture of us

Not because she wants to, but because she has to

She doesn't talk, just sad smiles at me - like she knows

She doesn't show the picture, but looks at it on her camera for a while

I can imagine what we look like

Brows furrowed in concentration, bent over calculations

You wouldn't be able to see the smell

You wouldn't be able to feel the brother-shaped hole

You would just see two kids doing math

He pulls his head back; Phoebe takes another picture