Lara, I’m Leaving —The Anti-Depressants Are Working 

It’s not your fault, Lara. You’ve been more than ample with and for me. You’ve been more than an apt partner. Perhaps it’s my fault. But I don’t think so. I’ve been borderline saintly to your whims. I’ve been too submissive to your needs. And as much as you try, you can’t understand this. You nag and question. You ask for attention while not willing to give any. And I am a man, Lara. What’s a man supposed to be like, sunshine? 

I write this because I don’t have to face your smile. You smirk so nicely. But I must digress. We only live once, Lara. And we ain’t getting no younger.  And this would have taken place a lot earlier were we both not in need. But these new meds have worked and I see the light. And in case it’s temporary, I need to air this out now that I’m in my right mind.  

I’m sure we’ll both be the better for it. 

Winston 

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