A brothers’ watch is not uttered lightly. He came long after us but is a part of us. Growing in a foreign place that all of us have escaped. It isn’t fair that he should have to battle the building of character sans the boys who stood by my side. Blood brothers is just a saying when you’re far away. You haemorrhage feeling, day after day, hoping he is ok. And you become foreigners. Spread to foreign lands. How do you find each other again, when you have grown and moved, married and emigrated? Where is home? Is there even such a thing for families now so long forgotten? He is alone, but not lonely. The swans of London ask you questions.
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