It all started when you bought a beyblade.
I hesitated to launch it initially, much like my initial hesitation to talk to you every time I meet you, years apart.
You, however, launched it with confidence without a split second thought, just like how you talk to me like time has never passed, like we are still young and bold.
We make eye contact and slowly, I learn to launch it with confidence, under your guidance. We are separated by sea, and more, but you’ve been the same to me, a mentor, in a way.
I pulled the beyblade the wrong way once, and hurt my finger. You saw me cry and dropped your beyblade, despite this being your turn to use Jenga, the most powerful one of them all. You cared about me, more than winning that match, than that beyblade, than Jenga itself.
We don’t fight like beyblades. You grew up too fast, too mature, and I missed it all. I’ve seen your temper tantrums when you were eleven. I’ve also seen how you helped me, when you were nine, when everyone else left. It’s not enough though, it never is.
We’re not exactly siblings. We’re not gonna exactly friends either. Our paths don’t collides enough, like beyblades do.
To me though, we’re both. I’ll wait, spinning and spinning like a beyblade, till our paths meet again.
See you soon, cousin.
P.S. Bring your beyblade.