Suddenly, he’s so far away. And I don’t even know how to feel about it. Although, if I were being honest with myself, he’s been far away for a long time, but he was still in the room for long enough that it was easy for me to not notice that he had already left. Or, maybe I knew all along that he was gone, and I was hoping that if he was here with me, eventually he’d come back. But he didn’t.
It’s hard to admit that I have born witness to the deterioration of someone I love. I didn’t do enough to stop it. No – that’s a trap. I did plenty, but my strategy was all wrong. It was enough, it just wasn’t the right way. I tried, but it still fell flat. Maybe I should have grabbed the bag of blow and flushed it down the toilet instead of sitting there every morning and letting him bump up before walking out the door. Maybe I should have grabbed him and shook him and demanded to know what the fuck happened in LA instead of holding him through the night. Maybe I should have driven him to the hills and said, “Okay, are you ready?” after he asked me to shoot him in the head. Instead of recoiling and saying, “Don’t say that!” Maybe I should have fought harder, even though I know that fighting harder would have taken us down an unretractable road of physical violence that I’ve always been trying to avoid. Instead, I let thing slip through my grip, which wasn’t very firm to begin with because I was afraid of leaving bruises.
He’s gone now. Just like that. I don’t know to where, or to whom, but it’s not here with me. I am empty, but that’s much better than being filled with regret. In my mind, he is flying, which is why I don’t dare to call, in case in reality he is back in the dirt.