I think you were high the first time I told you I loved you.

You must have been because you just laughed at me like it was some kind of joke.

“Maybe you should get some help.”

I told you one day.

“Like what, therapy? Rehab?”

“Yeah,” I said “something like that.”

You shrugged, noncommittally.

“You’re going to kill yourself someday.”

“I know.”