Bricks and Stones

My little brother cried more when his pet snail got squished by my sister than when his aunt killed herself.

Brick.

No matter how much  tender love and care I gave to that plant, my raspberry bush only grew thorns this Summer.

Brick. 

My dad and I fought everyday, and just as we started to get closer those "weird cells" whisked him away for what seems to be endless appointments.

Brick.

I received 100 dum dums because he's a dum dum and a $20 gift card to See's because I'm still a sweety in his eyes.

Half a Brick. (I do like free candy)

And of course it's fine to be fine and pretend to be fine when you're kinda not fine. But when you're really not fine I expect a brick with a note on my doorstep so that I can rush to you. 
And hold you.

Bricks and stones may hurt sometimes.
Sometimes they make you stronger. 
Sometimes they just plain suck.

Bricks are real, physical weights that are sometimes misused as anchors. Others find them as ways to test human strength.

In reality they were invented to keep you from floating away with your dreams up into the cosmos with me. That's why I find them so ugly.

So baby lets cut some strings and let go of our bricks together.