Pillar of Salt Lick

Fuck the pain. Deal with that long searing arc of insanity tearing through the muscle. I can't prescribe any sort of painkiller that will abate this ache for you. I can't offer any condolences or commiserate because I have no real idea what that feels like.

I only know what I feel like. I know what I want and what my hopes are for, and they do not include listening to the horrible bruising mess that you choose to offer.

We got lucky, that one afternoon, that day the sun shone and the mesquite burst in the heat. That day the tire tracks went left instead of right. That day the roses bloomed red. That day the bookmark fell from the pages, leaving us to ponder where we left off. That day the ice melted into the lemonade, watering down that bitter tart flavor.

One last look behind us reminds us that we do not turn into a pillar of salt as the Bible so declared. That memory, whatever it may be, because we all remember things differently, that memory is the glue that bound us together once. You know. You were there. And so we remember and forget and move on so much further down the road, holding that memory as a bit of nourishment against the future. As if we could prevent dehydration with a margarita. In the end it doesn't matter, but we'll be better relaxed for the outcome I guess.

There are those I wish would go away. Those I'd prefer to forget exist. I'm sure I fall into that category for some. So be it. I was not put on this earth to tell them how to live, what gives them the right to tell me? The opportunity to disappear becomes so attractive at times, and I'd love to point at all the reasons why, but those are cards I hold close to my chest, those are the cards I don't want to play just yet. In case someday I do decide to.

I can only speak from my experience. Your pain is not mine, your words are not mine, your journey is not mine. So follow your road and I'll follow mine. And when the time comes, I'll take salt with mine.