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It's really hard for me to say this.
We've spent so many years together, but what have we earned? Mistrust, disbelief, hate. We've formed a rather weak bond, and I'm constantly wondering if it's already been broken. Has it? Has it really? Some nights, questions like that will keep me awake in the dark, silently praying it's not true.
Are you happy? Without me in your life? Do you wake up some mornings and think about how glad you are that I take little to no part in your life? I want to believe you don't, but maybe it's so. I sincerely hope that you think well of me.
But what have I given you that will urge you to remember? I've pushed you aside so many times, and ignored you. I even once pretended you didn't exist. I can understand fully if you hate me, that's reasonable to its finest degree, but, if I were to apologize right now, would you accept it?
Silly question. You probably would. You've always been sweet like that. Sweet like that syrup you love so much. But…I don't want you to forgive me. I don't want you to say it'll be okay. Because it's not. I don't deserve your forgiveness. I really don't. At what moment did I earn it? Even if you were to forgive me, you would probably just say it out of pity rather than love.
I guess…what I'm trying to say here is…I'm sorry. I'm sorry for tripping you on the school playground when we were six. Yeah, you remember that don't you? It was the day before the year let out? Remember? I tripped you to be funny, but it only scrapped your knees up really bad. You were crying in that soft voice of yours, and to this day, I regret it.
I'm also sorry for ignoring you when we entered middle school, pretending like you weren't there, like I didn't know you. That was wrong of me, it was. I'm still angry about that, and I've never really forgiven myself for it.
I'm sorry for making fun of you in eighth grade. Saying it was girly for your hair to be long, and how purple was a girly color for your eyes.
I'm sorry for forgetting your sixteenth birthday; out of all the ones I should've remembered, that should've been it. Sixteen is a great age; you learn how to drive, and mostly, that's when you start growing up and dating. But…you were probably already grown up.
I'm sorry for how I never stood up for you, not once, in all our years together. When the older students teased you, and made you cry. All I did was stare, not offering a hint of assistance when I would throw myself into total strangers' problems.
I'm sorry for how I treated your boyfriend, Gilbert. I knew he was a good guy at heart. I did. He's good for you. He'll take care of you. I've always known that. He's rough on the outside, but he's really caring on the inside. But you already know that don't you?
But…in the end, I think the thing I'm sorry the most for…is not being the big brother you needed.
I'm so, so sorry for not being there, ever. To be there to hold you when you had a bad dream, to tell you it's alright when you got a poor grade, or patch you up when you fell. I'm sorry I never told you 'I love you' when I really did. I'm sorry for cutting you out of my life when I found someone.
You're the greatest brother in the world. You're the greatest brother anyone could ask for. You're considerate and sweet, and I know you'll go far in life.
I love you Matthew, I love you. I'll say it as many times as I have to. I love you. I love you so much. You mean the world to me, even if it never seemed like it. I'll say it again for every time I never said it. I love you. I love you.
I love you more than anything, little brother. I just want you to know that. From the deepest depths of my heart, I love you.
Take care, Matthew. Go far in life, travel the world, never give up until you've done everything you've wanted. Love and nurture the people around you, and you will receive it in return. Live life, because you only have one shot.
And don't ever lose sight of what's important to you.
Thanks for being my brother, and for now and forever, I love you.
Alfred Fitzgerald Jones
We've spent so many years together, but what have we earned? Mistrust, disbelief, hate. We've formed a rather weak bond, and I'm constantly wondering if it's already been broken. Has it? Has it really? Some nights, questions like that will keep me awake in the dark, silently praying it's not true.
Are you happy? Without me in your life? Do you wake up some mornings and think about how glad you are that I take little to no part in your life? I want to believe you don't, but maybe it's so. I sincerely hope that you think well of me.
But what have I given you that will urge you to remember? I've pushed you aside so many times, and ignored you. I even once pretended you didn't exist. I can understand fully if you hate me, that's reasonable to its finest degree, but, if I were to apologize right now, would you accept it?
Silly question. You probably would. You've always been sweet like that. Sweet like that syrup you love so much. But…I don't want you to forgive me. I don't want you to say it'll be okay. Because it's not. I don't deserve your forgiveness. I really don't. At what moment did I earn it? Even if you were to forgive me, you would probably just say it out of pity rather than love.
I guess…what I'm trying to say here is…I'm sorry. I'm sorry for tripping you on the school playground when we were six. Yeah, you remember that don't you? It was the day before the year let out? Remember? I tripped you to be funny, but it only scrapped your knees up really bad. You were crying in that soft voice of yours, and to this day, I regret it.
I'm also sorry for ignoring you when we entered middle school, pretending like you weren't there, like I didn't know you. That was wrong of me, it was. I'm still angry about that, and I've never really forgiven myself for it.
I'm sorry for making fun of you in eighth grade. Saying it was girly for your hair to be long, and how purple was a girly color for your eyes.
I'm sorry for forgetting your sixteenth birthday; out of all the ones I should've remembered, that should've been it. Sixteen is a great age; you learn how to drive, and mostly, that's when you start growing up and dating. But…you were probably already grown up.
I'm sorry for how I never stood up for you, not once, in all our years together. When the older students teased you, and made you cry. All I did was stare, not offering a hint of assistance when I would throw myself into total strangers' problems.
I'm sorry for how I treated your boyfriend, Gilbert. I knew he was a good guy at heart. I did. He's good for you. He'll take care of you. I've always known that. He's rough on the outside, but he's really caring on the inside. But you already know that don't you?
But…in the end, I think the thing I'm sorry the most for…is not being the big brother you needed.
I'm so, so sorry for not being there, ever. To be there to hold you when you had a bad dream, to tell you it's alright when you got a poor grade, or patch you up when you fell. I'm sorry I never told you 'I love you' when I really did. I'm sorry for cutting you out of my life when I found someone.
You're the greatest brother in the world. You're the greatest brother anyone could ask for. You're considerate and sweet, and I know you'll go far in life.
I love you Matthew, I love you. I'll say it as many times as I have to. I love you. I love you so much. You mean the world to me, even if it never seemed like it. I'll say it again for every time I never said it. I love you. I love you.
I love you more than anything, little brother. I just want you to know that. From the deepest depths of my heart, I love you.
Take care, Matthew. Go far in life, travel the world, never give up until you've done everything you've wanted. Love and nurture the people around you, and you will receive it in return. Live life, because you only have one shot.
And don't ever lose sight of what's important to you.
Thanks for being my brother, and for now and forever, I love you.
Alfred Fitzgerald Jones
Literature
Canada-rella Epilogue
"And they lived happily, and awesomely ever after."
Molly stared at her grandfather in awe. "That was a cool story, Grandpa!"
Trevor shrugged. "Eh, it was alright." He looked at his grandpa. "But, what happened later on? I mean, did they have kids? What happened to Mattie's step-father and step-brothers?"
A small chuckled entered the room. They turned to see a man with dirty blond hair and violet eyes covered by glasses. His hair was tied back into a small low ponytail and had some gray streaks running through it.
"Mattie and Gilbert had two beautiful children," said the blond man. "They had a little girl with silver hair and violet eyes.
Literature
I'll Never Let Go CH. 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or its characters, and I don't own James Cameron's "Titanic", or the RMS Titanic.
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'Titanic was called the ship of dreams. And it was. It really was...'
Titanic was ported in Southampton, England, on April 10th, 1912, waiting to be boarded by the many people who had a ticket. While first class passengers just wanted a nice getaway and try out this "unsinkable" ship, many of the third class ventured to America in search of a new life. However, everyone had no idea what would happen to this ship during its maiden voyage
Literature
Canada-rella PT 1
Once upon a time, in Paris, there was a man named Lord Williams. His wife had died giving birth to his son, Matthew. Matthew was his light, the one who made him happy even on the worst of days. The boy was the spitting image of his mother; dirty blond hair and innocent violet eyes. But still, the lord felt that the boy did need a mother.
Matthew was five years old when his dad remarried, but too another man instead of a woman. His name was Francis Bonnefoy. He had two sons of his own, named Alfred and Arthur.
None of the three were kind to Matt. They would make him do all the chores and other house duties himself. His father, though not too
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Written while listening to this. [link] I highly suggest you listen to this while reading it. It adds to the effect of the story somehow.
Because Himaruya never clearly out right said what the "F" in Alfred F. Jones stood for, I used Fitzgerald because I think it sounds cool. He may have mentioned what it COULD'VE been, but never confirmed anything. So leave me and my head canon alone.
This is basically a drabble of Alfred's thoughts towards Matthew. It's unknown to me if I shall write something through Matthew, but likely not. This was one of those 'impulse' writings in which I just go with whatever comes to my head.
Kudos to you if you like PruCan! If you don't, then, well, I'll leave thoughts up to you.
Thanks for reading!
~Edit~
Whoops! If you read the AN, type 'Brother' as the first line of your comment!
Hetalia is (c) to Hidekaz Himaruya
Because Himaruya never clearly out right said what the "F" in Alfred F. Jones stood for, I used Fitzgerald because I think it sounds cool. He may have mentioned what it COULD'VE been, but never confirmed anything. So leave me and my head canon alone.
This is basically a drabble of Alfred's thoughts towards Matthew. It's unknown to me if I shall write something through Matthew, but likely not. This was one of those 'impulse' writings in which I just go with whatever comes to my head.
Kudos to you if you like PruCan! If you don't, then, well, I'll leave thoughts up to you.
Thanks for reading!
~Edit~
Whoops! If you read the AN, type 'Brother' as the first line of your comment!
Hetalia is (c) to Hidekaz Himaruya
© 2011 - 2024 KeyBladerr
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Just, just let me cry a little. Why not.