MY SOUL MATE
Lives with his parents in a basement in
Alpharetta.
He works nights delivering pizzas, does well
with tips. He’s going back to school, online
for now, one class at a time. He calls me
when he wants to use—once a week, sometimes
more. I answer as often as I can, which is not
often enough. I know sometimes he stops
at a
gas station on his long drive home
from a shift, picks up a little baggie of
Kratom,
and spends the night with us on
Xbox Live
laughing and hardly slurring his words.
I forgive him for this, for whatever money
he owes me, lost now to the ether of friendship.
I am proud of him. I need to call and tell him
I’m sorry for everything.