You drank to excess on our first date. I didn't know then, what I know now.
You almost died, twice, before our second anniversary. I didn't know then, what I know now.
The three years of sobriety that followed were hope-filled. I didn't know then, what I know now.
You were my beacon, my heart, waiting at the end of the wedding aisle. I didn't know then, what I know now.
The meetings were helpful, you said, until they weren't. I didn't know then, what I know now.
Your fairweather friends said you used to be fun, but what they called fun was killing you. I didn't know then, what I know now.
What I know now, is this.
Willing you to live, to fight, is not enough. But giving you a loving environment where you finally feel safe, is more than anyone else has given you.
Helping you put space between you and everyone toxic, is not enough. But helping you develop skills and stand tall in your truth, is more than anyone else has given you.
Encouraging your talent and championing your experience is not enough. Showing you your worth, when everyone else reflects judgement, is more than anyone else has given you.
You are more than anyone else has given me.
