You push on the wooden, creaky door.

It’s stiff and tired because of the time they tried to kick it down.

You give it another shove and it opens to the spacious entryway.

You pass the ashy fireplace where they put cookies and milk for santa.

You see the labeled height markings on the door frame by the bathroom.

You notice the unsightly yet nostalgic imperfections they caused;

The crooked bookcase, the hole-ridden rug, the scratched up shelf designated for family vacation photographs.

You wander to the kitchen.

You glance out the window to see the tree swing they build rocking back and forth.

You take seventeen steps to the end of the hall.

A trio of bedrooms; one blue, one green, and of course one pink.

You hear the triumph of a board game victory.

The huff of the loser, the chuckles of the cheater.

You step into the pink bedroom

And you feel the same bittersweet feeling as you did for so many years of your youth.

Laughter but tears, fun but arguments, love but complete and utter hatred.

The bittersweetness of brothers.