So, it's tender. I think about, and name the long litany of names and feel all the ones I know personally who have died from fatal overdoses. The ones I loved. And still love. I think of so many folks I know who have lost count of all the people they have lost. Imagine that? LOST COUNT. They can no longer remember after the first 15 or 20 deaths.
And the ones that struggle now. That struggle mightily. The siren call of the drug de jour that doesn't give a sh**. But, oh, the call away from pain. The call toward a tremulous relief. Like these little raindrops. Clinging and temporary. Beautiful and at a different scale no different than boulders.
Inevitable falls. And maybe that is the rhythm of a life that is chosen.
All I can do is collect raindrops in my own folds and know they drop like boulders on some.