I do not begrudge you your choice. I could not. But that does not mean that your absence from what used to be 'our' life, not merely 'mine' -- does not splinter into my heart like an icicle shard, now you are beyond my reach forever.
Every eventide, Eärendil sails into skies fading into inky velvet blue, and my gaze is always captured, even now. You followed that star, our own father's fair vessel, westwards, away from these middle lands. Away from me, until the end of time.
No, I do not begrudge you that choice, brother mine. My heartbreak is merely a raindrop in comparison to the deluge of sorrow that would have swept our world if you had not chosen as you did. When you heeded Eonwë's call, you became the hope of Men. What is my greatest loss has become a healing balm for Middle-earth. Like our father, you were also a bearer of light.
I do believe, dearest twin, that you have made our parents proud, just as I am, still, even as I search for peace from the knowledge that we are now further apart than we ever were when it was merely the Belegaer that lay between us. Now the saltwater gathers in great storms in my own eyes, a blurring barrier I wish, quietly, secretly, in my most solitary moments, that I could cross.
I know I cannot. I also made my choice.
Nay, I will never go beyond the Circles of the World, Elros. This is naught but a star-drowned lament. But you are bound as well, in a way -- your memory lives and breathes in me, like a suppurating wound, like the gentle kiss of summer's first dawn. Like the tender touch of the missing part of one's spirit. As long as you are within the waking dream of my memories, you will forever be within Arda. Within me.
We are halves; half of each other. Half-elven, they called us, and I chose thusly. The valiant blood of Men still thrums in my veins, all the same. Perhaps that is why memory, while a bright haven, also feels limned with thorns.
I cannot run from your memory, brother, not even if I wished to. You are there whenever I see our face in any mirror.