mictlan

When I get drunk enough or high enough, I want to call her.

I don't know which of them I mean. Both, maybe. In another month it will have been four years since that day I met both of them in a room I've never seen again. There is no one, without the other. The last four years, they are of a piece; a single, sharp and shining thing.

The one: I want to call her and tell her that she'll be okay, that things will get better, that I don't hate her, that she must do what she can and hold it together. I want to tell her to come back, that I will make it better.

The other: I want to call her and tell her that she shouldn't be with him, that she must not take the easier way, that it would all have been worth it, that it would all have been worth it, that it would have all been worth it.

And I want to call all of them -all of them, tell them all that it will be all right, that they shouldn't be afraid, that I am with them, and I will be here until the end.

When I get drunk enough I wish I could carry it for them, the things that weigh them down so.

Oh, my loves, my loves. I wish I could carry you.

posted by: mictlantecuhtli at 23:26 | link | comments (2) |