Growing up, I always had a perfect brother.
Mature, steady, calm and self-possessed.
He has always been the good brother who restrained himself soberly, held an umbrella for me and gave me medicine, and controlled his strength even when he hugged me.
Maybe it's just me who is more unwilling to do so.
A little more attachment, a little more dependence, a little more greed that can't be hidden.
The more restrained he is, the less control I have.
The more he avoids me, the more I want to pry open his impeccable appearance and see if the way he loses control for me is also hidden in a late-night dream or a certain kiss that cannot be confessed.
Intention: Break the shackles of names and let love be naked