The first day we met
she wrote about me in her diary.
She liked my shoes
and that I smoked too.

They had warned me about her.
Stories in the paper of a young girl in a coma.
It fascinated me.
Nobody thought we'd stay friends.

But we did.

This one time, she snapped at me.
I made a promise to myself that night.
I would never forgive her.

But I did.

Lately she's been seeing things.
Nobody else can see them.
A fake smile of mine, a dishonest joke.
It makes me feel secure.
Last sunday she kept saying
how good I looked that day.
It makes me feel beautiful.

The chances are we'll grow apart.
Never think of one another.

**But I like to think we won't.