On my worst days, I look at your pictures. Sometimes I smile because of who you were and sometimes I weep because of what you could've been. This is my baby brother. He left this earth at 22. Senselessly murdered. He wasn't in the streets. None like that…On my worst days I miss him. I become angry because I can't remember what he smells like, or his voice. I'll never know love how he loved me. Grief is tricky; its been 3 years, and I grieve him like it just happened. I miss you mane 🫱🏿🫲🏾💙❣️😔
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Source: Becoming Visible; An Illustrated History Of Lesbian And Gay Life In Twentieth-Century America- by Molly McGary and Fred Wasserman
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