solace

[Drive]

... in a bottle.

One of my best friends these days.

A bottle.

A glass.

A cigar.

A dimly lit room.

That's all I want.

And it's all because of you.

I wanted to be like you.

I wanted to be as kind.

As good.

As righteous.

But I couldn't do that.

You killed that part of me.

You became what you hated most.

What I hated most.

A Monster.
Catildre

I can't remember your face anymore.

All I remember is that thing.

I don't remember your kindness.

I remember your pain.

I remember your heartache.

I remember your hate.

I don't remember anything good about you anymore.

But I still ask myself.

Why can't I get over what you've done to yourself?

Why am I not trying to rationalize it, like everything else?

Then I remember.

People only exist to disappoint you in the long run.

And that's what you did, didn't you?

You tricked me into thinking you'll be there forever.

That you'll do the same you've done for me, for my kids.

To be there for them.

To show them the love you shown me.

But that wasn't in the plans for us, huh?

You had to let that thing take over everything you do.

You died weak, terrible and incapable of understanding that you were a lost cause.

I did not understand how much of a lost cause you were.

I thought better of you, but maybe I shouldn't have.

Maybe I should've accepted you for what you are.

A terrible.

Weak.

Incapable.

Horrendous.

Man that you are.

No wonder why she toyed with you.

That was your only worth.

Her amusement.

And in the afterlife.

I hope to see you again.

Bartholomew.

Just to convey that sentiment.

Catildre.

Fuck. You.