My friend is dying.
I know we are all dying.
His death is more imminent, physically. Mine is more of a slow, mental roll.
He lost part of his foot yesterday, not because of his Type 1 Diabetes, but because he got bitten by a brown recluse ... staph infection ... bone marrow infection ... bone death. On the "good" foot. The one which hasn't had several stints and an M-POP. Fucking irony, for sure.
Here is a truth about that man. He has been a Christ-figure since the day I met him. I remember the day I met him. My high school boyfriend was being a lying whore (again), and he broke up with me in a driveway. I cried. A car pulled up with two boys I'd never seen before. One was this guy. He was a fucking champion that night. A super nice guy (a phrase which would piss him off, if he read any of my writing). But once you meet your brother-in-arms, you know who he or she is. They will do almost anything for you. Sneak you into concerts, talk down security guards, run from the police by your side, break you out of jail when you get caught. This man is part of my karass, just ask Kurt Vonnegut.
One of us is going to die. Actually, both of us are going to die, but it's a matter of who first. His problems are on the level - on the outside; my problems are in my head, spreading to the rest of me. Malignant .
"Somehow we gotta find a way, no matter how many miles it takes, I know it feels so good right now, but it all comes fallin' down, when the night meet the light, turn to day. I wouldn't wait forever, just shoot your shot. We don't need no more more extras. We all we got."
... said Mac Miller. And then he died.
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