Tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow. I’ll change, tomorrow. Tomorrow… tomorrow… tomorrow. I’m so sick of that word. Every single time he picked up a glass I would internally cringe. He even had the nerve to rub the glass in my face and say “Don’t worry baby. This is the last one.” He has about a hundred of the last one and it never changed. Daring was I to hope for something more than this life. How cruel of me to wish he be something other than himself. How dare me. And it continued. Night after night, drink after drink. So why would he notice if one day I wasn’t there to receive his banter? I took the pills thinking I could go slowly into the night. Thinking for a moment I could have a happiness high and maybe I could just forget all the pain. Turns out I was wrong. I can’t stop thinking about the broken promises, the fights, the bruises. But more than that, I can’t stop thinking about the man I used to know. Maybe, once I’m gone, I’ll find him again.