Another Place, Another Time

June 13, 2017
By Anonymous

An alcoholic and an optimistic. Eight years together. Life and death. The truth.

Chapter 1: Another Place, Another Time

People like me don’t know how to love.

We don’t know how to make people love us in return. We don’t know a lot of things. We don’t know why the sun rises in the morning, it just does. We don’t know why the brain ticks, and why it makes us so oblivious. We don’t know why clockwise is clockwise or why counter is counter. We don’t know time. We don’t know love. I don't know much. I am still not sure if I ever will, Overall, I just

People yearn for a love that they think they need. We think that being this grand person will allow them to accept what love is. By being someone who is never wrong, or who has never done wrong. We’d all like to believe we are as pure as when we left our mother’s womb, that we are still untouched by the evils of mankind. We like to think we have the

And grace of God. In a perfect world, in a dream, we may be able to achieve this. However, here on this Earth, we have too many evils to outweigh any chance at real purity. We sin every day. We carry the snake with us, and I wear it proudly around my neck, scales like pearls. Many see people like

As a threat or a hazard, because we have learned to bear the sins we wear. And deep down, they still know. They still know they are tempted for the glass of whiskey, for that gambling rush, for the heat of another. And yet these people keep their facade up, and

Let the truth shine. They somehow can hide their sins long enough for someone to love them. But what is the point in selling a fake love to someone? Why use this wall of innocence to bait them, if the lies make them

At the first sight of sin? It’s the truth. We don’t like to face the truth. It is the sourest song to hear, and yet we sing the song of temptation so well. And with someone like

Sin comes easier than truth. And for someone like you to accept my unforgiving love, could be a  mistake. I

Know how I could live with myself if I--even if I was in some strange world--

Myself love. If I do, it won't let

Leave, or let me Go.

And the sky exploded in a burst of light, illuminating my face as I gaze into the starlit sky. I almost cannot notice the rain falling onto my bare feet, and onto people around me. With my eyes closed, I can’t see what’s happening in front of me. There are people laughing, and dancing, their lives changed by a regular summer day. A moment that will be lost in time years from now. The moments I somehow never want to forget.

I never could wrap my head around how happy the solstice made people. I understand the basics behind it, the logistics. It’s the longest day of the year. The first day of summer. But at the end of the day, it’s all it is. A day. Twenty-four hours of something we go through three-hundred-and-sixty-five moments a year, and throughout however long our mortal life is. I still don’t know why I am here. But I am.

I don’t normally care about these things, I’m usually just in it for the free booze. Life is too hectic and short to not enjoy a glass of whiskey on the rocks. Life’s too short for a lot of these things. I don’t have enough time. Time is a really funny thing. We sentence our lives on this spectrum created by assholes that thought that things needed a  start and end. We call our life a timeline, but a line is infinite. So why isn’t time?

It’s not that I don’t enjoy time, it’s just that in all of the people who have ever lived and breathed, who have ever loved and died, didn’t matter. There are only so few people in history that we know. The one percent of the population that has everyone screaming and yelling with lust for more. To not forget. The other ninety-nine percent get by. We have a family, a job, friends maybe, but the end result is all the same. We are all just people,

That might happen to have been someone's father, barber, or teacher. We all see someth--What the hell? Are you insane? I yell at the shadowy figure. You could've gotten hit! Jesus… I’m not the type of person to push someone off of train tracks, but I would have rathered to not see someone dead.  “Just a little bit. I was trying to get a photo of the train coming head on…” He mumbles at me. Now why the hell would you

do that? Do you have a death wish? I throw my hands up to the sky trying to reach for some logical explanation Suicide? Maybe he’s blind? Or maybe-- “Well...if you had not so rudely cut me off, I could've explained.” Well if I had not pushed you off of those tracks you would have been rudely cut out of this world. And you didn’t even thank me, now that’s rude. God is he attractive, and God do I not know how to talk to him.    

“I’ll thank you. Sure, fine, thank you for saving my life. I was aware of the train, but I was trying to get the photo for work.” For work? What kind of job puts you into a life or death situation? “I’m taking promotional photos for an anti-train track walking expose, I’m a photographer for non-profit”. I cannot contain my composure and snort at him. He gives me a confused furrow of the brow, the kind of thing I knew I could love. I’m sorry but

the irony is killing me. You are a part of a campaign against walking on train tracks...and you were walking on them? Letting out a small laugh, his lip twitches upwards and he reaches up to scratch the skin behind his ear. I could scan him for forever. My eyes trace his frame, taking in his strong stature, and yet I was the one to save him. His dark hair and
dark eyes only give me a sense of purity and

lightness. Compared to my fair hair and pale gray eyes, I should be the one radiating warmth, but he is. He’s a ray of golden light, and I emit darkness. Polar opposites, north, and south. “I guess when you put it that way...yeah, I have a bit of a death wish. Maybe that's a bit of an understatement. You’re right, and I’m…” Amir?  I yell from the bathroom. Do you know where my shoes are?

The black boots...chunky heels. “You left them in the basement, next to the dog cage”.  Six years together and he still knows me better than I know myself. Hell, he knows me better than my parents do, than our dog does. Than I even know him myself. Six years. Through everything. I truly don’t believe it either. The way he holds me and tells me that everything

will be okay, the way he calls my name in the morning to wake me up after a long night of work, the way he knows I like my eggs sunny side up, and my coffee sweet enough to cut back the taste of last night’s liquor. This morning and every morning run so well, we are a well-oiled machine. Years together can teach you a lot. He taught me to love, which is something I never in a million years ever

expected to learn. Ever. It honestly baffles me on how he can just keep track of everything. Standing amongst my worn down boots and wet pawprints, I can smell the coffee and eggs. I can hear the light music playing in the background. I can--I can smell cologne. Hey hon, goodmorn--I knew something was different. He’s usually still dressed in his sweats. Every day. He’s wearing

a suit. The tie is missing. Something is missing. Something is off-- “Listen…”, he turns around to me, his blue-green eyes flickering, mimicking the candlelight reflecting off the linoleum tiles. The sizzle of bacon in the frying pan sounds like an eruption. “You--your…”, he trails off, not one sentence completed since I entered the room. The steam suffocates the silence,

only enhancing the scent of his cologne. And there is no place I’d rather be in, than here right now. Low lighting and a soft breeze. The low noise of the ship cutting through the water is interrupted by a voice. “Enjoying yourself?” a faceless but familiar voice draws near my perch on the deck. I want this. I want this forever--the sun. Hushed, soft. A voice

comes from my mouth, but it is unlike that of my own. The water is too calm, it radiates innocence and fresh starts. No amount of waves can wash me away. No amount of sun can bleach out the darkness. No amount of anything. “You deserved this, a break.” Amir. Amir knows. I know he knows. His voice knows everything, it tells me everything. He’s

so lost within me, so hopeful for me, so drunk in love with me. And I’m just drunk. Drunken and sun-kissed, the perfect scapegoat.
I know my lack of silence startles him, my solitude, my stationary gaze. I get into a trance that he thinks I must snap out of. He won’t stop trying. “H-hey. Happy birthday you know. I know that twenty-six is a bit jarring

But--” I play my game too well. He doesn’t
understand. An age is an age. We learn, we live, and we die. No amount of numbers could change what the truth really is. You say that you age, but find that aging is a bad thing. We judge our lives by numbers, an endless paint by numbers, erasing the lines that connect youth to old age. Twenty-six isn't jarring.

Twenty-six is a number, Amir. A goddamn number...“Number? You, would like my number?” Sure, what harm can it do? I wouldn't want you jumping in front of any more trains now would I? He’s reluctant for this, yet he trusted a stranger to waste his time away all evening, and now he has the audacity to be reluctant? And if I was going to

kill you, you’d be dead right now. A spark in those eyes shouts at me louder than any words could. It’s not reluctance, it's intrigue. It’s something I’ve seen before--the potential lust, the adrenaline rush. “And if I didn't want to talk to you ever again, you’d be alone by now” there it is, the lust. I’ve analyzed his software long enough tonight to know what kind of

person he is. He’s sweet and kind. He’s a family man, with a family plan. He cares too much and loves too deeply. But it isn’t it. That’s not what drew me in.  What’s your thing? I shout at him, abruptly standing up from our spot by the lake. My
wild eyes must be amplified in the firelight. I know he sees it, he jolts upwards. The

furrowed brow. “My what?”, and there it is, the adrenaline rush. You know..your thing. Your internal sin, your baggage your--whatever you want to call it. Because you're a really nice guy.
I don’t get those. They don’t get me. So if there
Was something here, I’m drawn to it--the thing. Up to this point I wasn't really trying to set off that perfect impression, and I sure as hell and

not trying that now. Maybe I scare him off, but there would be nothing worth my time running away if he’s nothing more than an average-joe-who-goes-home-to-the-wife-and-kids-and-spends-Christmas-with-the-in laws- then he just isn’t worth my time. He needs a thing. I’ve got things, hell I’ve got plenty. Everyone has them, they have to. I know

everyone has a thing, but it just depends on what they do with it. Joe takes it out on the golf course and cracks a cold one with the boys every Sunday. He tells them about the glory days of high school and how much he misses how great Ms. Prom Queen looked that night, and how she's married now, popped out a few puppies. They say that her husband is too boring, that she deserves something better, more exciting. They laugh at

themselves and propose that maybe they’d take another swing, and get back in the ring for another round. Poor Joe, it's too bad that Ms--Mrs. Prom Queen is calling her husband inside, from tossing the pigskin out with his buds’, to eat supper, and tuck the kids into bed. Poor, poor Joe. He hears his wife calling

him, until next week He tells them, the gaggle of men can be heard from the empty parking lot, as they all make their ways home. Nine to five, but not on Sundays. Sunday’s are for the could-haves and what-ifs. Sundays are for getting the support of your buds’ to remind you that you didn’t peak, and it’s all up from

there. Sundays are for hiding your desires from your wife, and keeping the secrets from their wives too. Maybe they'll be unfaithful, or maybe they’re truly happy. Probably not. You can only live so long hiding your desires. Poor Joe, poor, poor, poor sweet clueless Joe. He’ll have a nice supper, play around with the kids,

‘watch’ some of the news (but not really watch it), kiss your wife as you go to sleep, and in your dreams, you think of the world where you didn’t let her go. That’s Joe. That’s his thing. Wishing on what could have been, for the rest of his life. An endless cycle. A cycle that could only end as you lay on your

deathbed. I’d like to think that when I die I can understand my thing. They say you realize the meaning of life, but Amir doesn’t deserve that. Nobody does. He's a photographer and I know that he’s seen the world. I won’t want him to settle down and dwell on the ‘good ole days’, I’ll make him live.

It just all begins with the truth, the truth of your thing, why you hide what you are, what you don’t show. That's your thing. And I cannot live knowing that someone out there is choosing to become something average, without ever even realizing how to live. We
can’t die if we never lived. A death indicates

some sort of life worth living, not a lie, not something so made up in fake. It is no way to live if you live a lie. And you'll die a liar. It isn’t a life. What a life this is Amir, Look at all these beautiful people. Too g-goddamn stu-pid to r-realize...drink in hand, I shake my finger at the screen. Happy New Years you miserable

scumbags. There i-is no p-point, I mean, just look at ‘em. Kissin’ and holdin’ each-other. It’s a n-new year, it’s not like their life changes…my eyes begin to water, not from sadness, but from anger. Blind rage floods my mind, and I throw my glass down on the coffee table. My vision is fuzzy. I need another

drink. Stumbling by Amir I make my way to the bar until the rug gets in my way. G-goddamn it...since when did we move this thing… I scour the room for bourbon, something stronger than champagne. Anything stronger than champagne. Nothing.

Drained clear. This is why I don’t trust the holidays, people come into my hotel, and think they can drink all of my liquor? Well they have another thing coming… “Hey--are you okay? Wait--no. You don’t need any more to drink honey, come he--” I feel his arms on

me, trying to grab what is left of the whiskey. He looks concerned. He’s wrong. I’m fine. He’s the one that's off. He’s always trying to fix me when I am fine. No need to fix me here, he's just a photographer with a blind faith in people...that's all. Let go. No--let go! I’m fine

Amir, if anyone needs help it's you! You’re always trying to fix me, and I’m not some project. I'm not some p-picture p-perfect thing you can, uh, photograph. Imfine. I slur, dragging the e out a little bit, maybe if I enunciate better he can listen to me for once.

“I--listen. You can’t do this every day, its new years for God’s sake! You’ve been like this for the last five years…”, his eyes, or eyebrows, I think his eyes look concerned. I swing the bottle from my fingertips, and a laugh escapes my lips. The light outside emerges from the

window, the city lights drowning me. The chanting and cheers outside become muffled as I take another sip of my coffee, avoiding his gaze. I can’t believe this, him, this There is no way, no. No, no, no. Amir, you can’t do this, you could get shot, you could...I can feel

my temperature rising, my muscles clenching, and my arteries working harder than usual to pump blood through my body. Afghanistan. A year. Alone. No Amir. No Amir. No us. He reaches towards me with his warm hands, as if he’s trying to melt away the ice that's filling

my body. Slowly. Every bad thing is another shard, every possibility and every gunshot is another nerve turning to ice. Turning me to ice, paralyzed by fear. I told him I’d get better...he told me we’d get through it, together. Together, not apart. Oh God, Amir. “I

know. It’s a year long, but this is my career, my fut--” he dares to use the word he knows I can’t use. Don’t you dare say future, Amir. You can’t possibly think that this career is your future, right? Because we have a home and a life and I’m getting better so I can have a good

future, and I need you. I need you here so much… All of the anger that could be boiling my frozen body as I register how he speaks of his future, turns into fear. Sorrow. I can feel burning but it is unlike any burn I’ve felt. I’m growing so cold that my insides are

frostbitten. Subzero. Antarctic. “I’m--” he places his hand on my arm as if he's comforting an orphan, which is what I am now. His grasp is trying to seem soothing, but it only causes me panic because I know this
could be the last time. “--I’m sorry. I know, but
it’s one year. The camp is safe and this could change my life. I know. I know what we have and what I’m risking, but you're strong. You can get better, I know this. I am sure of this with every inch of me. Your fire inside of you

got me to fall in love with you, and it may have gotten you into some trouble, but it will also get you out of it. You’ll always have me inside of you, but that fire, that strength, could carry a thousand men. You don’t need me to fight

this, at least not physically. You had enough drive in you to push me off the tracks, think of this as pushing me of the tracks again”, but he's wrong. I need him with me, and he knows it. The only fight I have is the fight with him,

he is the fire that pushes me forward. He is the supernova of hope and love in my forever expanding galaxy--no, black hole-- of anxiety and Hennessy bottles lay on the floor around us. Well, only two. One for him, and one for

me. He knew as soon as my serenity out on our balcony turned to irritation at the mere talk of age, it was time for me to drink something a bit stronger than a pina colada. We have gone through this too many times

before. I get easily worried at the talk of anything relating to the subject of my declining hope in being anything more than a bunch of atoms. He’s tried to help me change ever since we got together those three years

ago, but there’s no help. Before we met I didn’t even acknowledge my fears about living a truly good life. I always thought that as long as I knew I would end up dying, I would find peace, and be able to live. Before him I

thought that a ball of mass would never be able to love. And I was right. I’m not worthy of anything. I still think that a good life won’t occur just because I know that one day I’ll die and become bones that will forever lay in the

dirt, without anyone. Without any love. A name that will fade in the memories of those I may have touched in my lifetime. I want to change this. I know that I love him. I know how he’s so good to me. But I don’t know if

this love is leading him on, I still do not think I know how to love correctly, at least I so. Amir has been gone for a year, and I wasn’t as alone. He’s all I could think about, even now as I drive to the home we once

shared. I got better. The fight was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. Not only did I quit drinking, but I Had to quit thinking that there is no use to a human life like mine. There was only so much help I had in rehab.

Most of it was a room of shrinks teaching me How to rewire my brain. To learn that alcohol does not fix my inner pain--and that was the beginning of everything. It’s just the beginning of everything, learning t-hat we are

Not these grandest of things. A new year, hip hip h-hooray, let's try and fix what we can’t ever truly achieve--what a great tradition. The lights are too bright for me right now. I try to

Focus on Amir, but I see nothing except for blobs of color and scattered movement behind him, showcasing the city scene down below us. Relentless hope and blind love.

“You--listen. You might want to sit down, you don’t look so good...maybe some sleep...I’ll go call room service for some tea or club soda--” he glances at me “--definitely black coffee.”

Amir d-do you not realize that I don’t need sleep, I don’t need your coffee, and I don’t need you yelling at me--the exasperated sigh that now comes out of him sounds like an angry

Roar. “Can you not see that I am trying to help you? I am in love with you--in love. I don’t want to, well like to, see you like this, it isn't health--” I’ve had enough, why did he have to

Tell me that. He knows how I feel. What isn’t
healthy is how relentless you are. You can’t change me. Nobody can fix me, so don't even
try to tell me that, because you know you’re

Wrong. There is no way that we could just be living in a simulation. No way. At all. The smooth taste of gelato on my tongue sweetens the sarcastically bitter tone that I tried to use.

He’s so...pure. The way that he has just the right amount of unshaven scruff, and how his strides mirror mine, give me a glimmer of hope. I step on the bug of hope as soon as it

crawls into my mind. I can’t allow this, so I turn away from him. “Oh come on now, you can’t come and refute this. You already flipped s*** at me when I didn’t know what my ‘thing’

was--just let me believe in crazy things, like that there are aliens or that the moon landing was staged. You believe crazy things too, like that a life is just slowly dying, and that love

isn’t real.” It’s his turn now to break the bitterness with the gelato. He does so by also sending me a lighthearted smirk. He might think of some crazy things, but he does

Have a genuine point. I don’t like to be wrong. I won’t want him to be right about this, even if he might be. Alright. I’ll let you believe in these theories because they might not be that insane

and you also might be one of the most handsome men I have ever spoken to, and yeah I might not think that life should all be good and that love might be fake, but there is no way

of knowing until we try it and I’ve never fallen in love or try to love someone...and there’s something genuinely good you, I mean You're tall and smart and…

I spin around to face him, stopping abruptly. I smell the roses and the vanilla on his breath. And that cologne, why do I remember that cologne? A wave of deja vu washes over me,
but I am quickly pushed out of it as his familiar voice brings me back to reality. Reality. “Woah, hold

on there, I can only understand English, and that was not it.” Fingertips graze my arms, and they’re trying to soothe me. I feel cold,

almost frozen. But maybe it’s the ice cream, or maybe it's him. Okay...okay. I don’t think that purity is real, and you emit that. I don’t think

there is anything worth living for. And you do. I don’t think that love is real or that I could have it. But you do. Let’s make something out

of it. I’ll teach you how to realize what your internal sin is...I’ll help you find your thing. And in return, you’ll make me fall in love with you.

Any sane person would be running for the hills, but he doesn’t. He gives me the one word I needed--”Okay” he wraps his arms around

My shoulders pulling me in, before continuing. The breeze is so cold but he feels so warm. “Okay. You aren’t just 26, you’re

infinite. You’re a flame that won’t burn out. You just need to take a step back. You’re here for you, for us maybe. There’s no work, there’s

nothing here that could extinguish you right now. Don’t let yourself do that either because today is for you. This is all for you. For a

minute I just want you to let go, to become the sun. Just be here with me, clear your mind. I need to keep you in love with me.

That was the deal, wasn't it? You taught me how to live, now let me keep loving you. Now and forever.” I can’t resist him. I turn to face

him and melt into the kiss that follows. The warmth of him. I am the sun. But, why do I feel so cold? Is there no heat in this place?

We paid good money to stay here. I need to get out, I can’t think here. His disapproving stare only makes me angrier, and even in my state

of mind, I know it’s the last thing I’d want. “Just calm down okay? Why are you acting so erratic?” He’s fed up with me, and he doesn't

Want to be. You wan-t errat-tic? I’ll give it to you. G-give me a call when you come to your senses and realize I’m the only sane one. I’m

driving home, I’ll see you when you’re done “celebrating”. A mistake, it's always a mistake to drive drunk, or heartbroken. “You can’t do

this. You could get yourself kill--” I’m sorry Amir, but all I can do is slam the door--our door? How did I get am I here? I was

just driving…I’m home. The home I haven’t been to since he left for Afghanistan, and I shipped myself off to rehab--I went to rehab

for you, so that you could come back and love a sober me. I’ve been dry for months. I learned

What I need, and it’s you, and all you can do is
tell me that you fell in love? His cologne smells gasoline. And then the scene
changes again. I can remember--I can feel

The anger as I catch him with another woman. The echo of his voice replays

In my mind, “I found my thing. It was you.
You were my thing. I put all of my love into

Someone who accepted it too late” that’s the last thing he said to me. I wanted to be right--

not like this. I got better for him. I could feel
the memory of New Years hit me harder than

The car did. All of the numbness in my body,
all of the pain...I caused that. I accepted

His love too late. Even on that boat with that
breeze. And when we first met all I wanted

Was for him to try and change me and he did.
It was too late. It is too late. They say that you

Relive your life as you’re dying, and in these
last ten minutes of my life all I could think

About was him. I made so many mistakes.
I drove recklessly and drunk, and the time

I’m sober, I end up on the dirt. The blood
In my mouth tastes of vanilla, and my burning
engine smells like his cologne. I know there

Are sirens, but all I can hear are waves.
I’m so cold, but his arms are so warm. I

Found my thing this night too. I could accept
Death but never accept love. I love you. His

Warmth assure me he knows, the Amir on
the boat knew that. The Amir when we met

Knew that, and the Amir from New Years
knew that. Deep down I knew that when he

Came back he would learn true love. Pure
love. She's beautiful. I know he’ll be happy.

I thought I knew him so well, I thought that I
could change him. He’s not like me. He’s

So pure, and I know that’s not a bad thing.
He’s a family man and he deserves his family

Plan, something I couldn’t give to him. I hope
at night when he kisses her goodnight that

Its real. I hope he won't think of me as the one
that got away because he’s the one that got

Away. He deserves to be the Average Joe,
and to fall in love with Jane and have kids

And a career and experience love at its fullest. He told me I taught him a lot, and it’s that I

was wrong. Everyone’s thing isn’t a weakness, but a strength. I know that now

Because I’m not scared to die. I learned how
To love, and I beat my addiction. I don’t need

A fairytale ending, because he got it. I don’t

Need to carry around that weight. I feel like

The sun. The darkness I always thought ruled

Me, shattered as soon as I met him. It was

Slow, but I couldn’t see it until now as I watch

My cold body on the gravel. He taught me how

To love. I actually loved him. I wasn’t

Right, he was. We need the truth. And I

Needed his warmth. How stupid I was. I went

My whole life trying to explain what I thought

Humanity was. I set every person apart from

Me and apart from what they deserved. In

Rehab they told me that the pain I had was

Something deeper--it always is. I drank and

Drank until I could forget why life wasn’t

Worth trying to be good for. There was no
Point in love if I was going to just die

Someday. I was wrong, I was so wrong. How is

It that I finally learned the truth as soon as I

Couldn’t do anything more? No more. There’s

No more fear. There is no more pain, and I

Don’t know why I almost feel relieved. I know

I was his weakness but he needed me in his

Lifetime. He was wrong--I could be capable of

Love. But it was too late. He’ll never know.

I smell salt water.  My skin is so blue, I don’t

Want him to see me like this. He doesn’t need

The time it takes to forget me, because the

Timeline doesn’t end, it just goes on. We will

Go on, whispers in the past. My last words

--for him, Thank you, my love. The warmth of

his arms take me whole, and I can feel myself

melting. I smell the salty breeze. I’m home.

Finally home. At last. I feel loved. Forever.

And the sky exploded in a burst of light.
“She thought that people like her didn’t know how to love.

Throughout our eight years together, I saw her and myself struggling to prove that wrong. She was a very my way is the highway type of woman, but I blame that on nothing more than a loveless life and a unrelenting habit to drink instead of take the truth. When I met her, she was very set on this. She told me time and time again that the only way

Or anyone, could fully know how to live, is if they owned up to what was bad for them. To accept it. And once you did, you would realize that life isn't this beautiful thing, and that you would stop trying to be wholesome and put up this wall of all-good-intentions and just live. She told me all of this and then told me to try and change her--to teach her how to be

And love in return. She told me she had a lot to learn from me, that I was a loving man and she could teach me how to live and accept my flaws, as long as I taught her how to love. She said that she didn’t fear anything, not even death. She said her thing--her internal sin or truth--was knowing the truth of life. But to

She feared everything. She got so entangled in this mindset, the fear of being alone, she told herself that the only way was to know that in the end we all die, alone. That nobody will remember you as soon as you pass into another life. As I got to learn more about her, more and more things made sense. Overall

Believe that her years of depression lead her to thinking that life is only a hurdle you get through until you die. She was too scared to get someone attached to her, so in the end, nobody would miss her when she

In the end. She was wrong, and I know over time she realized that. Her drinking became more severe, and I could see the pain she was in. She was falling in love with me. Oh Radley,

Didn’t have to be so scared. And I regret all that I did. When I left we both knew there was no going back. You got better for me. For you.

Forgive me, I know you’re listening. You allowed me to know real love. You

Me find her. I needed you in my life. And

I loved you. And for you, I’ll let you Go.

Chapter Notes:

This is a short story written in free verse fiction.

The author's comments:

Inspired by the film Comet by Sam Esmail and the style of Ellen Hopkins

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