Friends aren’t friends forever. They come and go. She won’t be a staple in the manuscript but rather a speck of graphite left on the top of the page as I reach the bottom ready to flipped to the next blank piece of parchment to continue writing my life story. Half way through the page my brain acknowledges the opportunity ahead, but my crumbling heart isn’t ready to start the next chapter. There is no good way this ends, both are filled with pain, but one is quick with harder initial shock by just giving up on her, while the other option is a slow burning ember that will turn into a fire that would make the Great Fire of Chicago marvel at how much destruction to my life it will cause. So, I start writing smaller and smaller to keep the last page going as if I can stop the inevitable similarly to a desperate man on the run from Death as if Death won’t catch up to him in the end. I too, don’t realize by choosing to run instead of deciding my own faith, seals my destiny and allows let the flame consume me. That changes today. The font is irrelevant. The emotion is real. The two don’t intertwine and I still feel reinvigorated as I try to turn my life around. This story will collapse and the end is close but my resurrection will Suffice for my story must continue. This will be my attempted escape from your grasp. Stupid bitch.