The phone is silent. No one reaches out to extend a hand, that would keep me from being pulled in by the rip current. Here I stay, right in place. I can float on for hours, admiring how some patterns change, while others stay the same.
I felt nothing, feel less, want more.
Juliet has not come home in many days. It rains out there. The water will wash her little body away. A man will find her on his way to work, feeling something grand just happened in his life. It is an extraordinary tragedy, he alone uncovered. He will become a hero to those that were looking for her. They will tell sister’s story on the news, and forget about her after dinner.
I am under someone else’s control. I admit this with an immeasurable amount of shame. There are those I have advised to get off the cross, while I carry one of my own.