You will be independent next week and I’m so afraid. I guess time will tell if you actually liked me for me or just for the fact that I could drive you to the liquor store. I wish you’d stop drinking but I know that’s a fools errand. You are an alcoholic and have no inclination to change. Prison didn’t change that. Losing everything you once loved didn’t change that. And me continuing to show up at your side hasn’t changed that. How do I compete with the feel of the alcohol coursing through your veins? How do I compete with that numbness that twenty four beers can bring? When you are sober, I actually like you. When you are drunk, I can’t get away fast enough. I guess the truth of your feelings for me will come out next week. Was I just another means to your access to alcohol? I hoping against hope that I wasn’t.