The alcohol danced in your blood, made it easy to escape the music of your past.

But you never gave it a last call. You let it take up residence, thinking your body was separate from your soul.

Before you knew it, it was a part of you. Its dancing heels stabbed holes in the flesh of your brain, and the holes became a part of who you are. You filled them with your favorite drink.

You thought the pain was only blisters from the movement. You thought they would soon heal. And so you let the dance continue. But the alcohol had teeth and claws now, like barbs they dug in tight.

I met you sometime during that song, thinking it would soon end. And if only the dancing stopped, I could pry those barbs out, I could fill in the holes with something other than a drink.

But the dancers were your friends. No. They were your food, your drug, your life. There was no separating them from you. For where did you end and they begin? You were one.

I’m sorry. Sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. Sorry I couldn’t fix you.

I tried.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I tried.

I gave you too many chances to change, each time thinking, “Maybe you just need one more chance.” But one more was never enough for you, and one more was always too much for me.