Love and Lithium: Prologue

I picture him enshrined in some ancient cafe, his skeletal fingers embracing a coffee cup. It is easier to think of him dead sometimes, than to imagine the various ways in which he might be self-destructing, and how many people--especially women-- that he might be taking down with him. For years I've kept myself from being sucked into that whirlpool of self-destruction, hanging on to various things--sometimes a person, a crystal, or a cross. Now I find the spiraling water growing stronger, and there is nothing to keep me from descending inward, too.