I'm sorry.
I've been trying to be careful with myself lately. It's hard to do. Look up, do you see all those powerlines? I know that if I could get a tall enough ladder, and climb up and just grip one, I could leave this world.
I could answer once and for all the question of what waits on the other side.
But I won't do that. I'm trying to be careful with myself.
It's strange to do. Strange to hold your own hand. Strange to look yourself in the eye, and to say, "I will get you through this."
You feel the words fall on air, leaving a mark that doesn't matter, like an icicle falling from a gutter and stabbing into the snow.
You ask yourself what life means, now that you're trying to be careful. Of course, there's no real answer. And this begs the question, was there ever one? Have you been doing all of this without a purpose?
And if so, do you really need one now?
I take my own hand. I look myself in the eye.
"I will get you through this."
