patient boy

Today, I finally understood it.

I finally realized that I had no control over it. There was nothing in my reach, nothing in my power, nothing in my capabilities that could have made you feel better. You told me, a million times, that it was all inside of you. You told me that I made you feel as amazing as you possibly could – but there was a ceiling, a limitation, a dead end.

Your dead end was heroin.

My dead end is illness.

I understand you, love you, fear you, embrace you, and hate you more now than I ever did in the comfort of your arms.

You are not a human anymore. You are an archetype, a magic eight ball, a tarot card, an episode of déjà vu that seems to shadow me wherever I go.

When my doctor asked me if I believed in medicine, I told her that I did – but that in the end, no one can help me. No one can save me. If I drown, then I drown.