In Love With

She fell in love.  His name was Heroin. He was really bad to her, but could also make her feel really good. Because she was sad, eve though she had it all. She had the money, the personality and the talent to go far. But He wanted more. And He took whatever He wanted, whenever He wanted. It didn't start out that way. At first He wanted only thirty seconds from her. And then He only wanted her on weekends. And then He wanted her after work. And then He wanted her before work too. And then He wanted her on her lunch breaks. And she would have to think of a reason for why it took her thirty minutes to go to the bathroom. And why her arms were bruised. Makeup could only hide so much. And then she got lazy. And the track marks were visible. And the joy that she had, was gone. She was dead inside.

And I see her every five months now, to make sure she's alive and to be the friend to her that I know I would want to have. But you don't think when you're young that you'll encounter this. Heroin seems like a crazy idea. A bad people problem. Good people don't do drugs. Ok, maybe they do. But good people don't do Heroin.

Heroin is something else. But they do. Good people make bad decisions and can still be good people after that bad decision is made. Does she live or does she die? Is she already dead inside? We're all addicted to something. What's your drug of choice? Where does your rabbit hole begin and end? Or is every end a new beginning?