Ficticious Truth

Sometime during the evening, an unnoticed and unrecorded time, things began to make no sense so much that sense was made. There was nothing left here to lead her on. A love taking her hand and beckoning, "come, see what happens." There was no solid financial support to ensure that her path will not be cluttered and unmanageable. Like a familiar, wonderful television series that exhausted interesting plot line possibilities, it was time to go before things worsened. The clarity warmed over her and there was no fearful uncertainty. She thought about the people who might care. There were some friends who even told her how much pain they'd go through if she died. But that was unstoppable. Actually, it brought her greedy pleasure to know this. Nobody ever cares until you are dying, until you are gone or threaten to be. With so many happy, content people in the world, it was so unfair to not have received a portion of her share. Where was the completely trustworthy friend, the happy giving parents, the movie perfect love? But she digresses. She sits, she begins to write.

***************

"So when are you going to take yourself out of that situation?" Avoiding intense eye contact after that question, she glances down to her coffee and sips from it.

"What, move out? No, I can't do that."

"Won't," she immediately corrects.

"What?"

"Won't, you won't move out. Of course you can. Sublease it. You just don't want to even though you should."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't want to, you're right. Doing the right thing is just too easy. I don't want to be soft."

"I think you'd be stronger by taking care of yourself and moving out."

She smirks. The noble move.

"Of course, but strength has many guises. I want my strength to be there for me, take these experiences and give me knowledge through them. Sure it's hard, but think of how much more I"ll be able to stand for afterwards. Think of how closer we'll be if we can still care and enjoy each other at the end. Running away to me is weak because it will be as if I'm padding my fall instead of climbing back up and trying again." Another cream in her coffee.

"Fine. I don't want to hear you complain again. You brought this on yourself." She flicked her hand as if shooing away any more retorts.

"Of course I can complain, and no, I did not bring it on myself. I don't search out controversy. I don't ask for it. I am merely choosing to deal with it in the context of the apartment. It is no different than if controversy found me if I moved out. It is inevitable. Now, if you don't want to be my friend and console me in these matters, that is your choice I'll find another friend to be there for me."

She sat silent for a moment.

"I'm sorry. You're right. I just worry."

"It's OK," she smiled sadly. "I worry every day."

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