I still look towards you,
apparently, when I'm drinking;
I've done it sober, too.
I check up on you every now and again.
Hoping things are better than they were.

I imagine this on typewriter paper,
and I imagine myself a better man than I am.

And then I realize, that it's not, and I am working on me...
and that I'm sorry that I hurt you.

I often wonder if you'd have been better if I were never in your life.