For $7 and a pack of smokes, a final farewell.

Is this the day you’re going to think me?  Huh, baby, is it?  I think so, and I’m so sorry!

I left the house that evening, to get a pack of smokes, but not for reasons that most men leave the house for cigarettes.   Not to get away from the kid, or yourself, baby, but because I had a serious case of addiction and I wasn’t going to get my fix by sitting around listening to you bitch at me for not getting off my ass and finding a job.

I’m sorry baby.

That’s a lie.  Lying to cover my own insecurities.  I did leave the house for the stereotypical reasons.  You, the family life, my responsibilities.  That was the reason I left.  I felt trapped, suffocated.  I was feeling jammed up inside by my own self pity, and moving away from the people that loved me most.

So I walked.

The night was cool, late fall but winter hadn’t set in yet.  The moon was bouncing off the fog, lighting my way, moving me.  Down the wrong road, but moving me none the less.

You need to believe me when I say, I wanted to come back.  I did.  This wasn’t my intention in the least bit. I wanted to make my way back.  I just needed a break.

And maybe I should have given them the $7 dollars in my pocket and the box of Camels but I quickly tired of those fuckers, thinking the world owed them everything and nothing had to be given back in return.   If it hadn’t been for my pride, my selfishness or my arrogant ways, I would have done just that.  Given them everything I had, but I was just being me, once again, fighting for all the wrong reasons.

It’s funny though.  At the time that those two punk were overpowering me, all I could think of was you, baby.  The way you softly stroked my fingers while we watched television, or the way you ran your fingers through my hair while we lie in bed, getting sleepier until finally, slowly, your fingers stopped, your hand resting on my scalp.  As they kicked me in the ribs, busting me up good, the only thing racing through my mind was your smile, the way you absorbed me as if I was fuel for your soul.

God, I love you baby!

If only I could change things.  A lot of things.  The moment I walked out to get my senses, my decision to act strong while I they were violently tearing at me, as the knife was plunging deep.  If I had instead taken the more difficult route, the bumpier road, if only I would have stayed, resting in your arms that night.  If only I had chosen the right moment to be strong, things would have been very different.

Were those savages better than me though?  Were they doing less damage than I had done, or were they surviving the best they knew how, or maybe showing me how I was so misguided in the directions that I had taken?   Was it a lesson they were giving me and not brutality at all?  Were they just showing me the wrong I had done to you?

I don’t know, baby.  I’m having a hard time thinking about it, drawing a picture of how it could have been, but believe me when I say, that I would change everything if I could, turn back time.   I would give up every possession of mine, fended off my horrible demons to be next to you once again.  I would run back to you, baby, instead of walking toward my addictions and downfalls.  If only I had that second chance that we always talked about.

If only I had thought of you the way I know you will think of me.