Sometimes, I think I killed you, babe. I killed you with expectations. I killed you with not enough quality time. I killed you with too little kisses. I killed you by being unemployed. I killed you by not prying more when I asked you how your day was and you only gave me a few sentences. I killed you by sleeping at Kristen’s. I killed you by not telling you I loved you that day. I killed you by going to the grocery store. I killed you by going over Sloan’s. I killed you by asking you to see a therapist. I killed you by waiting for you to talk. I killed you by not taking all three of us out to the dog park when I was supposed to. I killed you by calling 911 too late. I killed you by slowly wearing you down about housework and chores. I killed you by not paying enough attention. I killed you by not thinking of the bridge, sooner…Maybe I didn’t kill you, that night, but I killed a part of you. Some vital part of you that you needed to survive. Some part of you that was keeping you from jumping. And I killed it.