At risk of being dismissively backhanded, you were just a band-aid on a tumor. But you were the only band-aid that stuck. It used to be so easy to just get drunk and fall asleep next to you, knowing that you would let me hide in your eyes, and it was only when you needed me to give something back that I wasn't interested.
I'm so sorry I didn't have more to give you. But I had to move on. I had to take off the training wheels and stand up on my own legs, regardless of how withered and atrophied they have become.
I had to grow up. And I'm sorry that the only apology I can offer, sincere though it may be, comes in this form. You deserve better. You deserve more. But this is all I've got for you.
So, tonight, in my dark room, on this cold night, I'll raise my glass (of straight grapefruit juice) to you, and I'll listen to your favorite Loudon song in tribute.
For what it's worth, I missed you yesterday. And, this time, I think it was for the right reasons.