"Je ne sais pas quoi dire, sauf, apparemment, les choses peuvent toujours s'améliorer." I typed.

My friend agreed, but I think she worried.
 

I expanded:
"Ils obtiennent pire aussi, mais il ya toujours la crème glacée, les chatons, et les amis à l'avenir."

 

She agreed.

 

I worried.

 

I wanted to text her.
Her number came up on my phone.
I stopped myself- after all, my worrying has never come to anything.
At least not since She left.

 

She was my best friend. 
In fact, I've looked up her deviantart and I think we'd still...
NO.

 

My brain screams that it's dangerous to think about Her.
She left me, tore me apart, made me vulnerable.
It isn't her fault... well, the initial damage is,
but She never dealt a final blow.
Typically, that was left to boys and harpies.

 

No, I did not text my friend this time.
My past is dark, and it scares me sometimes,
the lengths I would go to sometimes.
But this lady gave me a phone number,
a lifeline in what can be a cesspool.

 

Honestly, she scares me too.
I'm not always dark, but my writing is.
And she's light, and happy, and funny.

 

I'm just reminded of the thought,
"List things you like"
You do, but how long until you mention yourself?
I've done it, and the answer is you don't.
You never do.

 

Not the way you say everyone else.

 

Maybe I will text her after all.
She asked for it-
if I was a burden, I think she would stop me.
We're friends,

 

and She can suck it.
Although I still hold a candle for Her,
expecting the good nature I remember to win out.
even as life sweeps me on to better things.

 

Goodbye, c'est la vie, 
salve collegium.
What are we doing today,
And do I have to think?
Because I would like that.
Do I have to feel?
Because I might pass.
But if I get to cry, or laugh, or flit around,
I just might take you up.

 

Thank you, friend.