Movement

My brother comes into my room. As usual, he doesnt knock. The last time I saw him was Thanksgiving. In the span of a month, my brother had grown at least an inch taller than he had been then. Now, he comes up to my eyes. Whenever he comes up to hug me, his strands of hair tickle my nose. He's growing up so fast. His shoes fit me. His hands are nearing the size of mine. Sometimes, I'd steal a t-shirt or a sweatshirt of his because it's comfortable looseness.
Everything he's undergoing now shows signs of adolescence.
I miss him so much. But more than that, I feel like I'm missing out.

I sigh outwardly. He's back to his habit again.
But this time, he's plugged into his ipod...
no doubt listening to linkin park's 'What I've Done' from the beat streaming out of his earplugs. 'What you up to?' he asks after he eyes my camera.
I tell him that I am taking pictures. Trying to develop an 'eye'; after all, photography does make you see everything in a different light.

'Mmm' he replies. He's back to jamming his air guitar and bobbing his head up and down. Teenagers...no respect, I think. Then the irony hits me. Thirteen. Nineteen. His entering stage. My exit stage. Next year, I wouldn't even be a teenager. Why did it seem like 19 and 20 were more than a year apart? Everything I went through for the past 6, 7 years is what is in store for my brother. I have to be there for him. More than anything. I want to.

I turn back. This time, he's jumping up and down possibly...ridin' the beat.
'I want a picture of you'
'Uh ok'


Time is created by the puzzle pieces of our movements.
Movements take Time...
the catch is,
Time waits for no one.