Living without her is similar to falling back into that weak, aimless, and absolutely pathetic version of myself. No. I had a purpose then. Now, I have fucking nothing. I snatch a bottle of vodka on my way out. While I don’t like the stuff, Sasha did. It was her favorite drink on the rare occasion she consumed alcohol. She was a stereotypical Russian who loved her vodka. Now, it’s my poison of choice.
