I don't know anyone who has a worse person than me. Okay, I love her, but Dakota, bless, is so difficult. She is needy and then aggressively isolating. She listens to bad advice, and wants me to pick up the pieces. She is one hundred and twenty pounds of frustration, spite and sadness, and her fluffy blonde frizz is a florescent marker to her location at all times. I should be gone by now. I should be allowed to leave. She is thirty. More than. I have seen her through school and childhood, and even though I packed up and prepared to go when she turned sixteen, she shows no signs of letting me go. I have crouched under beds while she screwed guys; lurked in loos as she puked up; held her hand as she left her Dad's house at eighteen, and then again at twenty as she returned for his funeral. I have been a loyal friend, a good friend, all this time. But now, I want to leave.
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real friends
Teen Fictionimaginary friends can come, just as quickly as they can go.
