i told myself i would stop listening for footsteps on an empty stairwell, breathlessly hoping it is you coming back a changed man. four years of wasted time, there is not much to show besides the need to pack things away into boxes and forget.
something i have learned about addicts is they are fucking ruthlessly in love with drugs. what a strange feeling — being jealous of a substance. always knowing i will never make you feel that way, never getting you as high as you need to be.
but still, you have to admit, i tried.
thanksgiving alone in the apartment that was supposed to be our home, i could not force you out of my head. i should hate you, but really i am just annoyed how talented i am at pushing everybody i love so fucking far away.
for somebody so damn scared of ending up alone,
i have a way of making sure it happens.