I don't understand.
You finally found a girl to pursue who isn't me.
I should be overjoyed.

Then why can I not shake the taste of blood in my mouth?
I'm happy for you.
But perhaps, I'm not happy for me.
I want you to be happy.

But will she bring you the kind of happiness you crave?
I doubt it.
Youthful love is about as foolish as it comes.
You've made this mistake before.
Many, many times.

I'm losing faith in you.
You're foolish for thinking she could be strong enough,
and willing, to bear your multitude of crosses.

But hey, I'm just a friend.
What do I know?
Evidently, I know not enough to please you.

I know in time, give it a month, maybe
and you'll be back at square one.
Alone, and in pain.
I'll be there.
Waiting to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart and build you up.
Again.