The Pusher

You know, I've seen a lot of people walkin' 'round
With tombstones in their eyes
But the pusher don't care
Ah, if you live or if you die

- Steppenwolf

I have sat down to write a reply, to you, more times than I can count, August 28th, the date reads at the top of your email. I cry so hard every time I start a response, I get sick.

On the way home, from university, today "The Pusher" came on the radio, I had to close the Psychology textbook, I was reading, so my tears wouldn't splash on the pages.

I can't even read what I am writing right now... I love you so much, I
miss you more than I can begin to express.... how did the world get
turned upside down and inside out? Why did a brilliant, wonderful, funny,
amazingly caring person, like you, end up living on the streets.

Why can't I let you go...

My roommate tells me it's called "survivors guilt", and I can't hold
myself responsible for your choices.

I must stop making excuses for you...

I won't let you go....

I heard it on TV, "ICE" so cutesy, an addiction sweeping all
towns and cities, the thief that stole one of my best friends, and
replaced her with... whatever it is you have become.

Your birthday is quickly approaching and I am not certain you are still
alive, or aware, enough to notice.

I read your poetry, especially the poem about me, often, it is one of the most insightful things ever said about me. Your talent is mind blowing, your intelligence unlimited, yet because of social conventions you have been fooled into believing you don't fit in.

I am so angry, I want to talk about the cute boy I am dating, and excitedly tell, you about my fantastic classes, and about my trip to British Columbia. I want to hear about your cute boys, your summer adventures, your accomplishments. I want to know you are well, and safe.. I desperately need to know you are safe.. It's going to be cold soon. Where are you going to go? How will you stay warm?

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Please be ok....