You ebbed and flowed through consciousness like the tides. Never with one foot firmly on the ground, always intent on leaving. Was I not enough to stay? When you clocked out, I clocked in. Empty vodka bottles encased you as smoke enveloped me. I swept your shattered pieces left scattered at my feet. First to go were the still-lit cigarettes, begging to burn down my living nightmare. Clearing the smoke allowed me to breathe, if only for a moment.

I know this pattern emerged long before my life was conceptualized. Conceivably, you were too far down the pit of addiction by the time my tiny, helpless body made its debut. My pleas of desperation weren't loud enough to pull you out. The years of cleaning up your demons hardened my love into hate. At my core, the detest was still fueled by fervent affection, but you'd have to dig deep to find it. By the time you checked out permanently, I had too.