As I sat curled up in fetal position on the corner of your couch, your fury raining down around me in the form of CDs, remote controls, whatever else you could grab and throw, the eulogy was already forming in my head. The painful din of the rock music you blasted through your stereo system, your wailing sing-along echoing off the bare walls and hardwood floors, the insane dancing and wild arm gestures you threw. Your beer-drenched breath spilling over me as you yelled your psychosis – you went through months’ worth of my phone bills; you recorded and called numbers foreign to you; you had Joe abuse his credit bureau power to get his information; you found additional addresses and phone numbers for him. These are to form my last memories of you. You want to believe I cheated on you. You want to believe I dated him for revenge. You want to believe I was played. None of these are true, but they help you hate me. Your rage is understandable. But all of it, all of tonight, confirms as I watched you what will never be. Your threats about him, your dedication to your lifestyle, your promise of a near-future drunkeness, all of these things are nothing new and reaffirms that things will never change. I no longer struggle to make sense of the hows and whys. So goodbye, my best friend of two years, my lover of two and a half, all the potential I thought I saw, goodbye.