She wanted to leave. She has been wanting this for a long time. I seen it in her tired eyes at two in the morning when she would switch the light on as I stumbled through the front entrance of our apartment. I could see the disappointment and fear of not knowing what I was going to say or do. I stand slumped over breathing heavily at her. She stood there silent gazing down on me with her arms crossed and her feet standing military fashion.

How drunk I was determined how I treated her. 6 scotches in im feeling a little frustrated and irritable, usually i try to limit myself to 3. that’s when I’m feeling loose and optimistic. But the night she left me I lost count after 13. I don’t remember much besides watching her blurry shadow figure leave out our front entrance. And I haven’t seen her since.