Too Little, Too Late

The alcohol went down easy when I wasn't around.

Within the first month, I knew it but didn't know it.
I'm not an idiot; I'm pretty intelligent, actually.
It's just that hindsight is always 20/20. 
You're just hanging out with friends, no big deal, I thought.
And you were fine; not mean or anything bad.
I hadn't figured everything out.
I questioned it in the back of my mind the first time you told me you loved me.
You can't love me already, I thought, but then again, I really liked you a lot by that time.
According to your friends, you were drunk and just saying the words on the phone instead of in person.
Within the same week, you told me love was dumb.
I know it was a joke a friend told you, but I think you thought love was ehhh when we met.
Maybe not, but you said later on you shouldn't have been with me.
I was ready.
So I stayed.

Probably stayed far too long.
But things were so, so good before they turned south.

There are red flags I'll look for from now on in others.
But red flags or not, I'm sure as hell not looking for anyone right now,
regardless of what anyone believes.

And that has nothing to do with you.
It's a choice I made for me, concerning only me.

When we were together, everything was wonderful.
You never drank.

It was when we were apart that you were someone else. 

Or maybe you were someone else with me? 

You were cute, sweet, educated, outdoorsy, put together.
And I did love you.
So much.
We had so much fun, saw so many places.
Bike rides, stealing kisses, and morning light and mountains, hikes and hammock naps), slow dancing and small towns, making the day up as it came in, making love the second we saw each other each time, back roads and everything slow and relaxed everywhere we went, camping and cooking together, and walking the dogs.
I miss a lot of those things about your company.
Most of the time things were so pleasant.
Until they weren't.
I was gentle with you.
I supported you, pointed to you to get help, which you did get.
But it was too late for us, sadly.

Too little, too late.

The old saying goes "Hurt people, hurt people."
And I know we both hurt each other while we were together,
but you hurt me to the core because you were dying inside and took it out on me with your words--
usually when you were drunk on the phone.
You were never like that in person.
It took me months to see that in you--your hurt.
I hurt for you once I found out that you had become depressed, once you admitted it.
My love for life, my love for you, wasn't enough for you or us, and I knew it.

But I stayed to make sure you wouldn’t harm yourself.
You didn't love yourself, or at least fell out of love with yourself, which means you fell out of love with and couldn't properly love me.
At your rock bottom, I know you wanted to die.

In fact, I was sure one night you’d end up dead,
your mom, dad, or sister calling me after the deluge to tell me you’d been drinking and driving. 

I told you this fear. 

I told you why I wasn’t leaving.
I was scared to leave you.
I didn't want you to be or feel alone.
And it wasn't a dealbreaker.
"I'm staying, not to save you, but because need someone in your corner."
I'm not sure you wanted that.
You never said that, but you didn't seem to want help from anyone.
You didn't know what you wanted yet.

Even me caring, that didn’t change much, but you did start seeking help.
Finally.

You had to find it within yourself to want to change.
I knew this.
I'm not here on this earth to fix anyone.

I didn't try to save you, which I told you, and you appreciated that, at least.
And I knew what else was coming, and all at the same time.

You then said you needed to break up for a while to focus on yourself. 

I was ok with that, even though I didn't want that deep down. 

Fix yourself, I told you, then down the road we will try again, you said.
The latter, wasn't true.
I wanted another chance, and I told you that.
Because after you left, I felt like I was walking away shaking my head.

I felt like it was all my fault. I was to blame.
I wasn't.
Things just happened.
I knew the truth, regardless.

The alcohol went down easy for you, but forgiveness was and is harder to swallow.
I forgave you and asked for that in return.
I meant every word.
You said you'd forgiven me.
I heard your words, but I'm not sure I'll ever believe them.

But this:

Beyond any hurt, any drink, anything that happened, there are more important things.
FAR more important things.

The most?

This: ears later,

I’m glad you found what you needed.
Your peace.
Your sobriety.
THAT was late, but not too late.
You're never too late for a second chance at life.
You saved yourself; that's what matters.
And I'm glad you're alive.