She came and went by the back door.
She came in high, bursting.
“I finally tried heroin,” she admitted.
“No,” we said, pleading.
“Don’t go,” we begged as she left for the last time.
Spring 1993
7 thoughts on “Spring 1993”
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She came and went by the back door.
She came in high, bursting.
“I finally tried heroin,” she admitted.
“No,” we said, pleading.
“Don’t go,” we begged as she left for the last time.
Comments are closed.
So sad. Time adds another dimension to tragedy.
These are the memories that stick with us, like a disease. Thanks so much for linking up.
Oh, this is so tragic. No one expects to lose a loved one that way.
i know i could very well say this to you in private, but it’s hard for me to read these things and not be filled with anger. not at you, don’t worry. at her. i was only eight. she had so many better, more important things to do with her time than drugs. it makes me wonder how everyone’s lives would have turned out otherwise.
Such a sad story…
So sad. So tragic.
Heartbreaking.