Three Pink Pills

There's a plastic bag filled with pills sitting on the kitchen counter. mostly white but some red blue pink and even dark green ones scattered in between. My wife, dear one, tells me that no one should be bound to so many pills. I smile and nod knowing I won't stop taking them. She thinks it's so easy to quit She thinks stopping is a choice. She thinks I know this- but I know better. The doctor prescribed them, I offer with little conviction (as if some sort of act of contrition) She seems to think that this make a sort of sense. But I know better. There's silence and a tall glass residing on the kitchen table; I lift it somewhat unsteadily to my lips, taking three pink pills.