You and I drink every night. A lot. It's gotten to the point that I can't sleep if I'm sober; neither can you. When we try, we both have terrifying nightmares. We don't let that happen two nights in a row.

Once or twice a week, you get violent. I wake up with a split lip, bruised arms, and no recollection of how it started or how it ended. The bedroom door is broken, the closet door is broken, the bookshelf is in shambles, everything is a new mystery.

Before we met, I was so responsible and productive. I had a fully stocked bar that had stayed that way for years on end. Now I'm just functioning. Our friends know that we're sick. But they don't know about the beatings. I put on makeup, wear turtlenecks, and go to work no matter what.

Is this the way we will be for the rest of our lives? Will I wake up dead before long? You're still my favorite person ever. Yet, I miss the person I was for so long. She was pretty fucking cool. Remember?

I'm planning my escape. I will disappear on my own terms. It's a big planet, and I have a valid passport. I have no ties. You'll be so easy to forget. Like we never even happened.