Skip to main content
Two of my friends committing suicide in the same twelve months. One of them on his birthday, his mobile phone full of unread messages, his body full of drink and drugs, as if he’d been having too much fun. The other found on the street, as if she’d flown down from her high window, following the pigeons that she loved. Both were alone in the end, both sociable. I swim in the evenings late, alone, like some half-hearted suicide. The other half of my heart stays waiting on the shore, keeping watch. It wants to be alive.
Rating
Average: 5 (1 vote)
Reviews
No reviews yet.