The person you become when you press your lips on that bottle or can is different from the person who made a promise for a lifetime. This concoction of just the right amount of fun and loosening up consumes you. It completely changed you. This person that you became is the other half of you that hides underneath your gentlemanly exterior who used to give me a warm smile and happy eyes and random bouquets of uniqueness. I remember when you used to give me one-minute notes with cringy messages that would take you an hour to write. You would take me out in the evenings and we had enjoyed all of our crazy moments when our digits were 30 below. You fed me an eternity of sweet words and old fashioned grand gestures in 60 seconds. You had always ended the day with “I mean what I say and what I do for you” to reassure me. Every morning was a routine and every word was predictable but I longed for every syllable. Until the moment I began to tremble at your every sudden move. The person you are when you press your lips, not on mine, is different than the man who used to call me beautiful. This substance encouraged you to change and you changed us. Every morning is no longer like our tranquil walks in the park but a prison I had to tiptoe around you lounging on the old stained couch with a bottle or can in your hand. My evenings became a battle with tears as I forced myself to endure every harsh word. You kept draining me of my energy and all of my life because I can’t change myself. I can’t make myself hate you because I’m someone who still believes that deep down the man I love exists behind this new broken cast. What has caused you to become like this? Are you ill? What caused you to unload your burdens in this intoxicated state? Was I not enough for you to share your hardships? I made a vow to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do we part. “I do,” I said once. But I have been replaced by your obsession with the bottle or can in your hand where my hand once intertwined with yours. You used to hold me gently but now you beg for another bottle or can to satisfy your hunger using all of your strength on my small, wrinkled hands. My long curls were not made to become a leash but with all your strength you held on tight. The notes on the shelf were not trash yet you burned it all just to prove a point. I am not a dummy but with all your strength...Days have gone by and you’re still living your life on the same spot on your couch. Your bloodshot eyes are glossy and your hair is a mess. Your beard has grown wild drenched in the stench of beer. I’m worried about you. I have always worried when it came to you. I went to bed after I stood at the top of the stairs looking at the back of your head for a long while in silence. I woke up this morning to find myself alone, no longer having to worry where I walk in my own home. No more bottles or cans in your hand.