donovan is still sick. he calls from the hospital. again. he leaves a message. again. listening to it, i know i will not call him back. not today, probably not tomorrow. maybe not even the day after that.
because i am a shitty person. because i cannot go there. not yet.
instead, for now, i make it all about me. i write about myself. i write about how his cancer is affecting me. how, just hearing his voice- weakened, tired, medicated- i feel like my mind is skittering perilously close to an electric fence. and about how, nearly a year after this began, it is nearly the same.
the only available response is fuck. still.
1 comment:
you are not. you are a good enough friend that he called you from the hospital. a shitty friend would resent him and move on. you are waiting until you are able. not shitty, like, at all.
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