Despite everything, I am still grasping, digging my nails in, to a tenacious belief that things are going to be ok. Not with some fragile, fingers-crossed, maybe-it-will-work-out hope. With defiant hope… hope that screams all your demons back to the hell they came from and belong to.
You don’t belong to them, any more than your DNA is your destiny. You may wander the streets scanning for them, but I am the one who will scour the streets searching for you.
When you were little, before I knew you, tiny pirate flags began coming to me in the mail. Mysterious, unexplained, with a different symbol on each. And although I did not know of you, I saved them in a closet until one day, I got a call about a little boy who loved pirates. Then I understood.
You still fancy yourself a pirate. And I still have the signal flags. For as long as I live, I will be the keeper of the the flags that bear your name, warn you of danger, wave you home.