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120 of 365

I have always had better conversations with her when I am sober. When my judgment was cloudy, my writing was cloudy, too. But she always spoke her mind when drunk. She would spill her guts in the midst of all the slurring. She didn’t like to be coddled and that pattern didn’t change even when drunk. She was independent. Her sway would make me uneasy but she didn’t need my support. She would swagger till she hit the bed. Once, she bumped head and woke up with a bruise. But even that didn’t curb the independence. She was adamant. I wondered sometimes why we were together. She fought me very step of the way to stay independent. I wouldn’t say it was the love. It was perhaps settling. No, that diminished our relationship and I wouldn’t allow that. Then was it the stubbornness that I enjoyed? As usual, she got up and tumbled into the bed. I grabbed the glass of whiskey from her as she collapsed. She snored a little. Maybe that’s what it was.


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