Lana feels

Here's a bright idea. On my way home from dropping the Best Friend off at the airport, after a tearful train ride homewards, I think I'll stop at the music and movies store and buy a copy of the sappiest best friends story of all time. And the next night, when I'm still soaking in the numb, fearful sadness of losing her and losing Colorado and starting anew, I'll curl up in my bed and watch it and cry at all the sad parts and even some of the happy ones. And I know, deep down, that I couldn't lose her if I tried, and that Colorado hasn't moved more than a couple of inches over the last few centuries, probably even tens of centuries, so it's probably not going anywhere between now and next spring, but it hurts anyway. Not a regretful hurt, but there's an ache and an emptiness where CRMS and everyone and everything that it meant to me aren't - I think it's in that region that I used to call my life. Once I have a new life at MHC, it'll stop hurting. But then there's another achy patch, sharing a border with the CRMS patch, with her name on it. That one's going to be harder, because it's a very Cesca-shaped void and I don't want a new best friend. I like the one I've got.