It was a green arrow, and green always means go, and “don’t walk” always, always means don’t walk. But he walked. He ran. With his ipod drowning out the rest of the world he ran right in front of her car whilst she accelerated through the crosswalk. It was a green arrow, and green always means go. And her car struck him and sent him tumbling forward onto the asphalt. He was, of course, killed. That is, he ceased to be alive.
This was April.
I’ve been in danger of backsliding, emotionally. Like the dog returns to its vomit, so the self-destructive artist returns to old addictions. I almost let myself slip back into that comfortable pattern, that unhealthy routine of cat and mouse. Sensing the danger ahead, I returned to the library of bruised hearts and reminded myself of every tear I cried on the matter, of every promise I made that I would do better for myself. It wasn’t a joyous romp along memory lane, but it was enlightening. And necessary. And I think I am cured.
