My reaction is mostly neutral and hers falls on the extremes of either side.
Living on borrowed time, she lives only for herself.
With each added year, the more roots she plucks.
Rocking herself by the fireplace, she cries for the long gone friends.
Who could have helped her drown the pain of life, and I help her to bed.
Where she stares at the ceiling, before retiring to her self made Utopia.