Phronemophobia, the fear of thinking. The fear of thinking when things are too quiet, or the fear of thinking when times are too loud. The fear of taking actions needed. The fear of being your own self. You kidnapped me unintentionally. You strangled me metaphoriclly. The friendship we had were those sad poems we read and cried over. We were obsessed with a concepts of an aesthetic of depression, sex, and drugs. We were our own aesthetic. In a way we still are, but this time you are angry, and I'm uninterested. There's a difference between fighting and the last straw. I'm there, and you are using this separation of friends as an attention getter. One day the yelling and tears won't work, and you will be lost without them. One day the high stress level won't be, and you'll find your "perfect" in causing drama. Thank you, for teaching me that it's okay to drift away.