What hurt the most, in the end, was being so close. Secrets, kept and shared, your cutting questions cleaving them both, distilling them down, haunting me through fever even as I run from medicinal fantasy, shivering beneath blankets of all the pushers promising escape from this: the way you built your life, took in the shape of it all, turned away from me, and vanished. Fate willing, I'll someday be as strong as you. Fate willing, I'll someday be as perfect as my dreams of you, dreams running like machines, leaving me dizzy.