Divisible by six

Six years now and you're still alive. 

Unlike those six parade-goers in Illinois. The scene there strewn with baby strollers, baseball caps, sippy cups and soiled American flags. And nothing like the sixty bullets fired into that young fleeing unarmed black man by white police in Ohio. You've felt Ohio before. Like honey bees, once fired, bullets lose their stingers in the bodies of their targets and die, their sinister purpose realized. 

You see? It can always get worse. 

Six years of half-living, of waiting, of wondering how love could leave the world so finally.