I walk on egg shells with you, watching every word that comes out of my mouth. I am clumsy- we both know that- and all too soon I slip and one of those shells crack, and distracted, I sit and try to repair it but by sitting I break several more and we all know how that goes. I just wish some times that you would admit that it's your fault, that even with my own emotional instabilities I'm not the terrible monster you seem to make me out to be. In the end, we're both confused, torn between hatred and the desperate wish to "just be friends."

Just be friends.

Is that why you can't be bothered to turn when I stumble and fall and hit the cold, unforgiving concrete? Why you stop, make a point to give me that awkward hug and ask for my help because we both know you can't deal with him? Why you held me that afternoon like I was her? Like you loved me?

That's not friendship.

I bend over backwards for you, giving my time, my efforts, all in vain, to see that smile grace your face, and I recieve no thanks, except for from him. But those thanks are a double edge sword, they are my only payment but they harm you, just like everything I say or do. When it's just us you smile and laugh and then someone else bursts that fragile soap bubble and then it all goes down hill from there.

But in the end, it doesn't matter does it, you've succeeded in doing what "I did to you." I am broken, shattered, by what was once one of the most rewarding things in my existance.

Perhaps it is me who did not break, but our friendship that did, and it's absence leaves me hollow. And hollow objects are not flexible- they do not bend easy. I will not risk another crack in my life just because you will not reach on the ground to pick up what's in front of you. From my position in line, I will no longer bend backwards to pick it up and hand it to you. Instead, I will cut ahead of those in front and leave you in the dust- I will not be there any longer for you to draw support from. All of the support in my body has been taken from me, and it leaves me weak in the knees.

I will not fall- I have others who are there, others who will help me continue on. They will help to carry me until I can support myself again.

I will not die.

I will, instead, rise again, and leave you to wonder why you let the phoenix leave you.

I will not catch up with you. I will pass you. You and you're road of heartache.

Angels live a restricted life, a nonlife, under the command of God.

Phoenixes fall...but from the ashes they rise. More beautiful and more powerful than before.

But mostly- they are free.