How

How did I know I had to let go of you?

It was the same exact moment you cried to me, on the telephone, about how much you hated your life and wanted to end it.

It was that night I never picked up my phone

and you turned out alright. She's still with you.

And I look back, through all our photographs, and you were never, ever sober.

Places and faces changed, but you were always drunk. The pictures are probably the only memories you have now, and they best be something.

I wonder what kind of memory I left for you, the same kind of thing that you keep asking me over and over again. You keep trying, and it's so beautiful and so painful.

I let go of you, but you keep coming back. And back, and back.

Quit hurting her, and quit hurting me. Quit hurting yourself. How?

Just love.