Lana feels

I love her still. Despite not having spoken to her in months, despite our distance and our differences and everything that has grown up between us since the days of playing wolves and kitterons in her backyard. Despite how different she is, and how I feel when we do talk like I don't even know her anymore. I read her diary whenever she updates, even though. Sometimes I even sign her guestbook, though she never responds and I'm almost positive that she doesn't know this site exists. She's formed a new life for herself and she hated Pelham enough that she's blocked most of it out, and I suppose I'm a part of that. She had much more of an effect on me than I ever did on her, I think. She was crazy when we met. The pathological lying was a dead giveaway. I played that game with her for way too long. Long enough that I almost lost touch with what I call the shared reality myself. But not quite. While we were together I made her more sane, or at least channeled her into less scary places than she would have otherwise gone. She made me more daring, more prone to take ridiculous risks... I would have done anything to please her, or at least, so that she wouldn't be angry with me. I fell for her, briefly, but that was about me, not her, and it faded after that fateful New Years. I've grown up, become a completely different person from the girl she met in fifth grade. And really. That's what we're talking about. A friendship began in fifth grade, between two girls who needed each other more than they could ever find the nerve to admit. Two hurting, damaged girls, ten and nine when they met, who found in each other for four years an anchor, a shelter, an escape. I miss that so much sometimes. I miss being able to escape the real world into a fantasy universe where anything is true, if you say it is. Where the boundaries between real and pretend, true and false, fall away like mist curtains in the sunlight, and we can say all the things you can't say to anybody, even each other, in the outside world. We kept each other alive. Only now am I learning to survive without that escape hatch, or at least how to differentiate between what is and what isn't to everybody else. She's moved on too, though in a much less healthy direction. We're two seperate people again. But I miss her so much sometimes. I see her sometimes, in other people, and it frightens me how much it hurts. She is such a part of me, or at least, she represents something that is still a part of me. And still I love her, though I never see her, speak to her, I don't even know her. But still I love her.