You're a raging alcoholic. Raging because you dont know what else to do, and an alcoholic because it's not the alcohol that takes away your rage.
I don't know what to say or do.
You look me in the eye and say "we're on a fucking yacht." The ground couldn't be more sturdy and yet you're barely getting a hang of your sea legs. I don't know how long, how far, I will have to swim to save you from these waves that you have thrown yourself into. Your cheerful words cover you up like a blanket of lies.
Keep it bright, keep it public, keep it brutal.
Despite all my jokes, the truth is that you are the most vulnerable person I know. And I can't stand to see you pretend that you're not.
I put your words in a frame next to me when I sleep. That way, when I have a bad day or feel like shit, I can look to my right and see that at least my feet have some sort of validity. I would say thank you but that just wouldn't cover it or begin to say what I really want.
The truth is I am more afraid of you than anyone else I have ever met, and if I never saw you again, it would probably be a load off my mind. But I would never breathe the same without hearing your words in my mind, or to feel the air forced out of my lungs because of your embrace.
You sat me down on a bench one afternoon after work and told me you would kill anyone or anything that would remotely hurt me. Not for one second did I doubt you. I will never doubt you. And I won't lie to you or tell you that it will all be okay. I will only say that you drink too much. And you try to forget too much. Even if you can't sleep without screaming, at least you have dreams to remind you that you're still alive, that you're real, perhaps the most real person I have ever met.
I love you, and sometimes I hate you, but most of all, I will always be here to catch you.
Originally written August 28, 2008