“He’s not fit for society”

His gaze locked on her. Deep, dark eyes, surfacing with the secrets they once held. The secrets they still hold. 

Say that again?  And what do you mean by it? 

His eyes fumbled around, trying to pick out words she would understand, words that would leave his mouth and absorb in her. 

She tried to help,

like he can’t be sober?

“He can’t talk to people when he’s on drugs, he’s a zombie.  And when he’s off them, he cant talk to people either. He can’t function. He doesn’t recognize you or where he’s at.

Not fit for society,” he repeated for her, “he can’t handle it.”

An introductory chit chat driving them towards speaking in tongues, a language only they knew.  

Sentences would be rearranged, words would be fancied up, everything would have a double meaning. 

Completely shifting gears, both knowingly in reverse, both knowing it was the only way for them,

to move forward.





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