I turned my face away.
“But your life does not come before what needs to happen.”
That sentence hit different.
True in his world.
He stepped out of the car and shut the door.
Left me there.
In shambles.
Later that night, I stood on the balcony.
Joint between my fingers.
My body craving meth.
Fighting it.
Losing.
Winning.
Losing again.
I went inside and grabbed my sketchpad.
Sat on the floor.
Started drawing a wedding ceremony.
Long aisle.
White flowers.
Two figures at the front.
I shaded the groom darker.
Made the bride small.
Veil covering her face.
I stared at it for a long time.
But I ripped it out.
Tore it into pieces.
And tossed the paper over the balcony.
Watched it fall.
Like confetti for a funeral.
I wasn’t ready.
