you're a ****-no-good-fool-liar as my mother would've called you, and by god i was the fool who knew. i almost loved you--once, when we were younger kids still, when the girl of your dreams turned you down, and i asked you for a date. even now i'm not really surprised by what you did.
you were the first boy i ever kissed (not the last) and we had no idea how-- i hesitated, and you didn't; but once there we stayed on flickers of endorphins and energy that i know now weren't really there.
and looking back i wonder if i was keeping you from the edge-- you hid your drinking problem for me (not that i ever--ever-- (--would've shamed you for it--) and told me later that you never drank while we were together, that you were clean, that you were engrossed in me and your **** musical theatre. you didn't lie about that, but when i found you with another girl, when i saw the way your eyes dropped to your feet and swelled with tears you didn't deserve to cry? i left you, and i didn't regret it.
i never have. i wonder, dear, if you're drowning in your lies the same way you used to drown in the bottle? i hope not--but you chose to make it your problem only.
we move on--hopefully you're not sunken in your basement with only the flow of your hidden whiskey to keep you company.