It’s been months since I had any news on Sparrow. The television says she’s most likely dead. Something tells me she’s o.k. but I have no clue what to think. Daisy has been staying with me, getting clean, and occasionally we have rekindled our life together.
One night she takes a breath to tell me I’m her medicine, that I’m helping her on her recovery.
At best I’m a placebo, holding her hand.
She’s doing all the hard work. Sometimes when I look into her eyes, I see my wife there.
It feels good.

The end. (Thanks for taking the journey with me on this experiment. 32 weeks we went on this story called Placebo. I’m going to collect this in a small zine print version. If you enjoyed the story, I’d love for you to get a copy. I’ll have news on it soon.)