Will I ever be saved

For twelve years I’ve stayed while she slips into other rooms, other nights that never include me. In the gray hush of Downtober I borrow again, folding money into an envelope she will open without looking up. My parents stopped asking when I would leave her; they only watch the leaves fall and say nothing. She texts from a party I was never invited to, asking if I can send a little more before the night ends. I stand under the bare branches and feel the cold settle where her warmth used to be. “Will I ever be saved?” I ask the empty street, knowing twelve years have already answered. The wind takes the last of the color and the last of what I had left to give. I still walk home with empty pockets, holding the same hope that somehow this month will change.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​