I’m leaving to go home for the holiday, and I’m pretending to be happy about it. But here’s the awful truth. I’m not happy about anything, really. And I’d much rather stay right here and be sad, and curl up on the couch with popcorn and books and badly acted Lifetime movies. The thing is, I miss you. I miss you growling at me, and I miss your face and even though you make me feel extraordinarily stupid sometimes, I just miss being in your general vicinity. I wonder if you remember that you were supposed to come home with me. You said that you would…You said a lot of things. You only really talk to me when you’re drunk, though…You only love me when you’re drunk, and that’s just not enough. I deserve better than that. Even so, it’s going to be lonely without you. I wish you knew how much I feel for you, but I won’t tell. I can’t. Not now. Not until you treat me right. Maybe never.