He knew my track record (self-made but not chosen). I thought being honest might be a key, that highlighting shame would force reparations. Maybe that theory held merit, maybe just without liquor.

After building ourselves back up, strongly reconnecting since summer… I was sure I was there, in a place where my past was really the past. I should've held on to it, that place… should've held tenaciously, because I was never so certain, solid.

But something got in the way. How could I get so far removed from myself that I didn't know what I was losing, giving up?