His toxicity matched mine. We were both killing each other at the same damn time, just as slowly as the other. And ironically, that made life worthwhile. With him gone, the toxins are sure out of my life, but in some weird twisted way, those toxins were just as important for my existence as oxygen is.
Like the metaphoric hand
That curls around your neck
Until you feel no more.
“That last thread that keeps you connected is always the hardest to snip.”
“When life gives you lemons, you more than want to throw them at the person who made up that saying.”