Ever since I can remember, my older brother has been the center of my world. Not just because he raised me after we lost our parents, but because of who he is—strong, kind, and unlike anyone else. He’s not just my brother… he’s my guardian, my hero, and, in many ways, my entire family.

What makes him different from everyone else isn’t just the jet-black wings that stretch from his back like something out of myth. It’s his heart. Despite the darkness in his appearance—his tattoos, his quiet intensity, and the way he melts into the shadows—he’s the most gentle person I’ve ever known. He would do anything for me. And I know he means it.

He taught me how to be brave. He stayed up late when I had nightmares, he made sure I never felt alone. His guitar was always there too. He plays like the strings are part of him, like each note comes from deep within his soul. His music was the lullaby of my childhood, the strength in my worst days, and the celebration in the best ones.

To the world, he might look like a fallen angel or some mysterious rocker with wings, but to me, he’s simply my brother. The one who protected me. Loved me. Raised me.

And no matter what happens in life, I know this one truth: I am the most important person in his world. Just as he is in mine.