Marcel Winatschek

The Only Thing That Works

Everything’s broken in ways that don’t need explaining anymore. I keep reaching for the belief that things will work out, that I’m just telling myself lies in the worst direction, and then something happens that can’t be fixed and the belief cracks. I hit the ground. I bleed. I lose what’s left of the light I was holding onto.

That’s when I need friends—not theories about how to get better, not wisdom, just them. They pull me up. They make me laugh when it seems impossible. They sit with me when there’s nothing to say. We drink together, we fall apart together, we tell each other the truth that no one else will. They forgive what I can’t forgive myself. They stand with me even when they disagree.

Their faces aren’t the same as they used to be. Sometimes I resist what they’re saying, or I sit with my head down listening to them say something half-wise because being alone is worse. But I know, deep enough that I don’t have to think about it, that they’re the only thing between me and being completely lost. It’s that simple. Without them, I’d be gone.