You see her smiling in pictures as you scroll through your newsfeed and you think nothing. She does not catch your attention, because to you, she is just like any other 20-something-year-old living the high life of love, sex, and other drugs. That's what college is, right? What else could she be up to?
That's what you tell yourself until she calls at 1am with no conversation topic in mind. Of course there's fucking more to the phone call than just wanting to hear your voice, and you know this, but you don't know what or why. By the time the sun rises this mystery no longer interests you, and you sum her up in one phrase: the girl who's fucked up.
When her hug lingers for longer than you expected, this is her cry for help. She dare not ask with her words, she insists she is fine, that she does not need your pity. She buries herself in responsibilities and drowns herself in alcohol until exhaustion sweeps her feet at night. This is how she copes. This is her everyday routine. This scares you because this is not beautiful. This is fucked up. You let her distance herself from you because you know you won't be able to save her. You tell yourself that you're not the one because she is too much to handle, too tragic and too little magic, and too fucked up to mend.
She needs you though, she needs you so desperately.