Not the Word

 

There's no need to argue anymore
I gave all I could, but it left me so sore
And the thing that makes me mad
Is the one thing that I had
I knew, I knew
I'd lose you

You'll always be special to me
Special to me, to me

And I remember all the things we once shared
Watching T.V. movies on the living room armchair
But they say it will work out fine
Was it all a waste of time
'Cause I knew, I knew
I'd lose you

You'll always be special to me
Special to me, to me

Will I forget in time, ah
You said I was on your mind?
There's no need to argue
No need to argue anymore
There's no need to argue anymore

*******

Dear Kate,

Words, of resistance, always, are futile.  Always resisting, always failing at it.

To open up a world, new possibilities, resisting decay, death, words must close in on something - someone.  Seppuku the word.

What if you were told your loved one, a friend, a family, a neighbor, is to kill herself, what are you going to do about it?

If she is right in front of you with a visible weapon, you might be able to do something: call 911.  If she is hiding it, the weapon, the final say she has about herself, you won't go around to see her back even if you are right in front of her.  Words are futile.  She is just trying to peel a fruit.  The smile on her face verifies and you are satisfied.  It's about a mere fruit.  A fruit she has always been, to you, merely that.

You don't know her.

Not enough to say anything to stop anything.  Too far away.  Too close.  Everybody dies.  Some by killing themselves.  Not excuses, but verifiable facts that satisfy.  Who do you think you are? there are a few things about you that need to be stopped too.  Let's stop short of stopping each other.

Now you go back to your distractions, many and always made new for keeps, seeing black and white and defending them against turning white and black, busy-ness as usual.  Your loved one is dying.  You love them enough to leave her alone.  She will understand.  You'd give up everything to have her back.  Nothing is asked of you.

You don't know the word.

Yours, Alex