Oh Whitney. Back on the sauce. Where do broken hearts and livers go? To the Betty. For one moment in time a few months ago, things we're looking up for you. You had ditched the loser husband—he was not all the man that you need—you recorded a new album, and you cleaned yourself up for Oprah. And now... It's not right, but it's okay.
You told Oprah after the first rehab—I'm paraphrasing—"I didn't know my own strength," and I looked to you for some new jams like the ones from the "My Love Is Your Love" days. I loved that album. As a teen resident of the Heartbreak Hotel, you were Queen of the night. Coping with heartache, I learned from the best. I would've paid a million dollar bill for that CD.
But the bottle won. I'm sure it's hard being you, losing the fame and watching your life spin out of control. Every day was probably one of those days. Though I will always love you, how will I know when you're really committed to sobriety? I think you need to take a few deep breaths, exhale (making sure to shoop shoop), and get in touch with the greatest love of all, your talent. Oh, and Bobbi Kristina. She's your baby tonight and forever.
So don't say "I have nothing." You'll be back on top. You are every woman—it's all in you. Your fan Schoprah and countless others know there can be miracles when you believe. I'm saving all my love for you, Houston.