I still remember it like it was yesterday.
Because it was.
You keep drinking yourself half to death. I hate you with all my being. Yet I care so much.
I needed an excuse. Anything at this point. I needed something. Something to make sure you were alright.
So I bought flowers. Roses in fact and I handed them to your mother.
Part of me was happy to see her and deliver these beautiful roses. Roses so red like her cheeks.
But the other made me feel like I was giving her roses at a funeral. Your funeral. To see your casket. To see you lay there and no longer feel your pulse nor your warmth. The two things that comforted me.
I saw you and I wanted to hug you but I knew I'd cry if I laid a single finger on you. I didn't want to feel your pulse. Nor did I want to feel your warmth anymore. I didn't want any hope.
Right now you're probably drinking again like the night before. Soon enough I'll have to talk to your mother. The woman I love the most in this whole world and comfort her.
Comfort her because you are no longer alive.
YOU ARE READING
Dear asshole
RandomThis is just a way for me to vent about random bullshit. I mean it's either this or literally break some bones. If you like in the comments you can vent as well. I won't judge. I promise.
