Ah, friendship. What lovely things you have brought me -.-

She was talking to me today. Something about wanting to rip her veins out. Something about wanting to dig so deep there's nothing left but shreds and blood.
Something, but all I could think was, "am I the only one who is happy?"
And then I laughed out loud, because I'm not happy. 
And I told her. I told her that, no, she doesn't want that. She wants to make her last months in England count, make them fun, and then start again.

I told her, "at least wait until I can talk to you in person. At least live until then."
She promised.
She promised she would.
So she has to.

And then the two of us can be happy, together. Just like how it used to be, only ten times better.
Ten times better, but.
Not really.