I know I miss you most ardently late at night - when a frigid wind whisks it's way through through the paper thin walls of the flat we once shared. I sometimes catch a fleeting image of you picking the strings of a beat up guitar, a soft smile playing at your elegant lips, how I long to kiss them once more. I drudgingly make my way to the twin sized bed we shared: too poor, stupid, and in love to care about personal space. Oh, how it vexed you when I would stumble in during the early hours of the morning, so intoxicated off of narcotics that I didn't remember my own name. I look back on how pretentious and self-obsessed I must have appeared. you, a saint as always would hold my head up as I nodded in and out of consciousness. Repentant now, that I never asked you how arduous your day had been, so entrenched in the daily high I required, that I had lost the humanity you so loved. I am lost to you, my dear, and the fault was all mine.
Sincerest Apologies,
Pete.
