You used to have the Cure

I haven't thought of you in years and yet last night there you were, wearing my sweatshirt and a smirk that I would come to associate with impending doom, drinking a large glass of wine. You were the cautionary tale, in between those I regarded with reticence and regret. In the end, you were beyond the pale, a train stop of the well worn intersection of reform or habit. I am not sure if I made the right decision. The impetus or the catalyst for reckless fleeting joy was always your call.