The first one to run when the house burns down?

Is you.
Damn you-- metaphorically, literally. Your lame txt messages, my eroded privacy, the distorted sense of self, the rising feeling of anger and shame and arrogance and self loathing. Is this what attracts you? This frail start, this noticable differencewith myself? I stopped being reserved the second it happened; I stopped caring the moment I realized that nothing mattered in the end, and that epiphany came the first time you let go of me. Cursed, doomed, blessed, sad -- it's strange to be all of them at once and be so freakin cavalier about it when it's actually supposed to be your job.