It’s been a month since our final blowout. I completely lost it and in true fashion, realized way too late I was in the wrong. You’re moving your stuff out now, told me you’d call the cops if I showed up. I should be happy I’m not in jail I suppose. But instead I’m sitting at a fucking Cheesecake Factory bar, just waiting for you to finish your move. I finally realized, I chose alcohol above you. I loved alcohol more than I ever loved you, and you suffered for it for years. I deserve this but that realization doesn’t make this hurt any less. You are the best thing that ever happened to me, and I fucking destroyed our relationship because I’m an idiot. The only thing I can do is hope to be better one day.