His Tiny Toes

I love my brother. I loved him when he was a little baby with his tiny fingers and toes. I loved him when he was growing up and stopped following me around. I loved him when my parents gave him everything he asked for, even sometimes at my expense. I loved him in his rebellious teenage years that took him down the mean streets and away from me. I loved him when I would wait up all night and he wouldn't return at all. I loved him when I pulled gun on him and asked him to leave. He was my little brother and I always loved him.