She's gone. I'd stayed. But all through the years that followed, part of me had gone with her, vicariously enjoying the rolling, green campus when I was riding crammed subways past Washington Square, living with her in a clean suburb when my real life took place in a fourth-story walk-up with windows that didn't close properly and junkies outside on the sidewalk. Leo was my real life. While she was learning to heal people, he was training me to uncover the worst things about them. But late at night, in bed with the door closed and the blinds drawn and my eyes shut, I'd see through her eyes, and because she was someplace better, so was I.
Only now I knew she wasn't, that she hadn't been anywhere better. Everything I'd imagined for her -- the happiness, the comfortable life, those were the lie. Somehow she'd fallen into my world.
Good, but a little more predictable than I expected.
I give Little Girl Lost
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