All those roads
all those forks.
The ones taken
the ones not.
The ones we think we’ve chosen
the ones we know were thrust on us.
The what ifs and if onlys.
I almost died at 16 and 17.
I almost went on tour with the Cramps.
I almost went to Tulane Law School.
I almost got addicted to cocaine.
I bought this house and stayed when my first marriage ended.
I met you, and we married.
We almost moved to Australia.
We wrote those books.
We had those adventures.
(The ones we’d always dreamed.)
And fucked those people.
(Mostly the ones we wanted to fuck.)
We had those fights.
(The ones we never dreamed and never wanted.)
After most of the fucking stopped.
That hot water heater blew up.
That hurricane blew in.
That pandemic.
Those deaths and loss upon loss until
we lost each other 25 years on.
Though the losing began long before.
If only.
