One day two strangers walked into a bar in New York City; they fell in love.
Seated at the countertop of this bar, one was a degenerate and the other desperate.
It doesn’t matter which one was which. Characterization is counterproductive to this story.
This would be a romance for the ages, a tale to span generations.
There would be romance and late night walks under a half star-lit city sky.
(You could never see all the stars in the city)
Children would be born; two to be exact.
And some cats will come into the mix.
We would become a family.
We would love each other.
We will hate each other.
There will be blood; so much blood.
Rivers of tears will be shed.
There will be enough salty drops to drown out the neighbors who forgot how to pick up a phone.
This would be our story to share with the world.
Others will look to our family for examples of what not to do with their own clan.
But this all could have been prevented.
This was truly a mistake.
If the two aforementioned strangers only chose to do something different that day instead of going to that bar, none of this, and I mean none of this would have ever happened.
Hindsight is not 20/20.
Hindsight is God allowing you to never forget what you or someone else massacred.
The four of us in this story, still alive, although entirely separated.
But I’m building a house for us to share once again!
We will reside this abode in an unapologetic fashion and in spiteful unison.
The walls will be made of glass so the world can look in and watch as we pay for our past crimes against one another.
And the ceilings will be just high enough so our tippy-toes can’t reach the floor to try and salvage the last of the air in our lungs.
The four of us will slowly fade away from one another’s vision; one, by one, by one, until the last one, the victor, loses this horrid game.