Sinking

There’s a part of her that appreciates it, this reaching out, well-meaning, wanting to help. She really does. And as much as she wants to chin up, put on her pair of roseys, raise dem blinds, you and I both know they wouldn’t mind if she just curled up. And died.

What was it that people say, when they want to give her a rah-rah speech: “You’re one of the strongest persons I know,” for starters. “Brave, is what you are,” ekcetera, ekcetera. Sometimes it resonates, but these days, she’s just too slow, lost, she’s missing the point, everything goes over her head, she doesn’t understand a word you’ve said.

She’s been through crazy shit before, better believe it. But sinking deeper is where she’s at, and where she’d really like to be at the moment. Maybe she needs a song, a really good one, perhaps one she can play too, one that brings a good memory. She needs a cigarette, a pack, or two, best for musings. A bottle of liquor won’t do her any good, but sure go right ahead. Maybe that responds to the is-there-something-I-can-take-now question in her head.

She’s trying so hard to articulate, be heard. But no one seems to understand the depths, its breadth. No cure all for this. Not today at least.

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Pictured: Cable car to Lantau Island in Hong Kong