The sky lightens outside as I sit in this airport.
The "p" on this computer is stubborn. I press it biting my lower lip, determined.
I am glad to be leaving this city, though already I miss Kristine.
It is one of those great friendships that dance outside the boundary of distance, staying firm from one encounter to the next.
She saved my life--calling 9-1-1 on that day I couldn't take life any longer.
She called me in the hospital, asking before she said "hello" if I were angry with her. I reassured her. After all, what more is expected from someone in a psych ward but reassurance that things will be alright.
There is no faster method of escape than bravado.
You can't, after all, tell friends that you still really would have preferred to die.