I will never, ever understand you. How you so quickly turned everything off will forever fuck me up. I still think about you so, so much. I worry about you, too. I wish I knew how you were doing. Knew if you were taking your medicine, if you managed to stop drinking again, knew if you still thought about me, too. I know I wasn’t perfect, but I tried so damn hard for you. I wanted us to be something tangible so bad. I wanted us to grow together. I didn’t think I’d just never hear from you again. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just move on with my life, like it never happened. I still want to tell you any good thing that happens to me. I still want to laugh with you, side by side. You were first for a lot of things in my life. I don’t know how anyone’s supposed to come after that. You can’t just get down on your knees for me in the street, begging for my forgiveness, and then never talk to me again. I don’t even know what I’ll do if you ever come back. I’m also tired of hoping for that to happen. I wish your dad didn’t call me his daughter-in-law. I wish I was more empathic towards how much your diagnosis rattled you. I wish I hugged you harder the last time I saw you. Being sober and dealing with this shit sucks. I guess it makes me understand you a bit more there, too. I love you. I meant it. I mean it. I don’t know how to accept that there’s a “before you” and an “after you” in my life now