Yeah, I know. I drunk texted you every couple weeks, since that day 6 years ago. The words made no sense to me when I sobered up, but that didn’t last long. I know I pocket dialed you, at least a dozen times, because yours is the only number on my favorites list, and sometimes I look at your picture and I read the address, and think of better days.
Always, you have the grace to ignore them. Always, you have the sense not to reply.

But now the world is drunk texting me, and I don’t understand. Crazy messages that make no sense. A lead rainstorm in her gymnasium. A hidden fortress in a home room coat closet. Counting children from too many to too many more.

Please. This one time. Please respond and tell me that someday, she will grow up to ignore my messages, too. Tell me she will grow up at all.