this morning #1320.

this morning, like a squelched squeal jumping out of a sad trumpet, the only clue i had that he might be trying to communicate with me was the sad series of scrambled sounds spilling out of his mouth. pure gibberish. if he wants me to listen to what he has to say & also take him seriously, he’ll have to slow his roll. stop talking over himself. with a wave of my hand, i demanded silence. surprise. he actually went quiet. i sat down beside him. put on a stoic face to counter the wobble in his. looked him in his eyes. more wobble. i tried to intuit what was up with this intoxicated man i’d once planned to marry. why’d he come back? why’d i let him? if i want to know the truth, i’ll have to get him sober.