Three months ago, before we started talking regularly again, I asked you a question. You probably wouldn’t remember, it was a fleeting moment so long ago, but I remember. I remember thinking before I asked it, I remember nervously awaiting your response, I remember assuming you would respond in a joke.
But you didn’t.
You weren’t happy, and while you said it in a much more eloquent and well thought out way, I saw the sadness in your eyes.
And here we are now and I just felt like you should know that every single time I almost hung up, every single time I almost didn’t laugh off one of your cruel jokes, every single time I was one glass away from calling you and telling you to go **** yourself because you were killing me so slowly sometimes I would forget you even were. Every single time, I would stay on the call, I would laugh off the joke, I would put down the drink, because you weren’t happy and I was the one person who was never, ever okay with that and I’m still working everyday to change it.