she is the number 4

i looked at my friend and saw her, sad, drunk, and i forgave her for being both.

we are all a circle, she says.   my parents love the boat more than they love me, and it’s true.  their selfishness boggles my mind.  i tread on dangerous territory, wonder aloud at their way of thinking.  she did after all mess up our evening by drinking and showing up late. 

and then i see how she is coping with loneliness and pressure that i don’t understand.  she is drinking, cursing, smoking it away and instead of anger i feel a little bit of pity for this friend, who hugs me, totters, and says ‘we will always write each other letters, as long as we live’.  i love her for everything she is and everything she wishes she was.  that’s really the only way to love someone.