you finally decided you were done drinking, for yourself. I like the sober you. Every day that you don't touch the firewater makes me proud of you, proud of you. Every slip draws a tear.
You worry about that dream I had, talking into the void, about your debt being paid; but I heard a more promising message. I heard that something came to collect, and you paid the price, as much as they can collect, and now your future is open for you to enjoy. You tell me that you expect to be gone in a week (with three days already gone) and I'm hoping to prove you wrong. You're no longer living on borrowed time, you're living on your time.
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