We moved on as though we had never quit. Friends, we said at first. But we lay in the park and he told me that I was stupid for quitting on him. I didn't believe him then. I'm not sure I believe him now. I had my birthday a few weeks ago. I'm twenty-four years old now. Twenty-four times three hundred and sixty-five give or take another few days or weeks. He was the only one that really made an effort. A gold necklace that hides in my drawer. Sunflowers that have long since passed. We haven't released our lantern. I'm not sure what it'll mean. We'll let off something that'll glow in the sky. It'll disappear eventually. Will we? I've changed many of my values. Not for him, not for other people, but for me in a way. I have a folder building up with photographs of lace and fabric patterns. I hear children screaming somewhere in the future. I want to teach them to hold paintbrushes between their toes and hug guitars to their chests. I feel like a bad friend. I am a bad friend. I sit around in my pyjamas and I interact with strangers. People are difficult. I love them in a way, but everything is tiresome. I've been on my drugs again for months and I thought I was doing well. I've crashed again. When boyfriend goes to hospital I pray that he gets out quickly so that I won't have to visit. I haven't spoken to one of my best friends in over a month because of too many panic attacks. She walked out a front door in tears because of me and never looked back. I never apologised. I want to but I don't know what to say and I don't care enough to formulate a plan. My art is suffering - I haven't made a photograph in months. College is back in a month and I'm working out ways that mean that I can run away all by myself and somehow feel okay. When things are good, they are very, very good. But there is no good these days.