And I knew it from the first.

You know, I really should have known better. She was high, entirely too candid and overly interested in my love life. But that's probably what I liked about her. It drew me to her when, in all sanity, it should have repulsed me to no end. Of course I thought I would never see her again. But I did. And I knew from the moment we ran into each other on the third floor after seventh period, I'd be stuck with her from then on.

For nearly seven years, she was my world. It's weird, looking back on it now. We clicked imediately, best friends from the word go. And then I had to go and fall in love with her.

It was predictable, really. We were too much alike for it to work, but that's not what made it go wrong. It was our differences, what few there were. Our radically opposite definitions of "realtionship" and of "love." "Fidelity." Her jealousy. My pride. The list can go on, but why bother? What difference would it make? The past is past. Knowing what tore us apart won't do anything to mend it, not now.

Afterward, even after everything she said and did, I stayed in contact for one reason. The baby. I love that little girl, and really, she was what mattered after everything went to hell. But even then, I knew it wouldn't work. She used the girl as an excuse, dangled her before me like a carrot before a horse so I would keep troting down the path despite my misgivings. Predictably, the bait didn't last. I finally refused to fall back into that damnable pattern she set for us so long ago, and now... she is gone.

I could find her again, if I wanted to. But I don't. Solitude, however painful it can be, is, I find, peaceful. Peace is something I never had with that girl. So I welcome it.

I do miss her sometimes, and I'll always love her. But I don't want her back. And that, I find, makes all the difference.

I really should have known from the start, that she would be my downfall.