Who do I call?

Dear L,

It’s 4 a.m. and I’ve just finished my last cigarette waiting for you to get better. They tell me there’s no way to tell, except when you do. That would have been enough for me, but somehow this time it isn’t. But then you never played by the rules, did you? Heck, you never even told me what the rules were, what the rules are.

You said it was a puzzle, a journey, a game, a race to see who’d get to the end first. But you never told me you’d give up halfway. And now I pace the lobby outside my room waiting for you to get better, waiting for your reply, just so that we can start all over again. But this time I want to know the rules beforehand. Last time I signed up before reading the fine print. I should’ve known better. I trusted you. They told me you had never let anybody down, yet. You came highly recommended. I trusted you.

But now that I know you’re not well, who do I call? Who is your next of kin? Who do I turn to in case you give up on me? In case you’re tired and you don’t want to play no more.

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