I dragged my blue-grey fingers over the name you were buried with, black letters chiselled into pale cold stone sunk in wet unkempt grass, marking the spot where you lay alone with your dreams in death, just as you did in life. I was one of the lonely people, Eleanor, you never saw or heard me you never listened when I tried to help. I was always there, Eleanor, but to you I was invisible, I had no voice I didn’t exist in your world. They say, nobody went to your funeral but I did, I leaned against a distant … Continue reading Eleanor Rigby’s Brother