Wishes

Blinding headlights in my rearview mirror. Sometimes I wish the driver would fall asleep or lose control. That the big rig would just run me down. Like a bug under the foot of a pissed off giant. No airbags could save me from that.

Sometimes I wish the bridge would fall. Collapse. As I roll across it. Angry chunks of concrete and twisted steel making sure I disappear into the raging hell below. Just disappear. The idea so appealing. Because I suspect once you officially vanish for good, you can’t come back. Not even if enough people wish it. Because wishes aren’t like horses. They don’t run off and wait to be found.

Sometimes I wish I’d never decided to try life sober. Because I’m not very good at it.