Please tell me that you are heading home to get a good night's sleep after a trying day and not picking up your bags and going to the airport. I'm sorry, Blair. You know I'm terrible at good-byes. Well, I won't let you say one now. I know that things are bad, but they're never as bad as you think. You were the one who taught me that. Do you remember junior year, when I was standing out on that helipad, ready to flee to Europe after my "who's the daddy?" pregnancy scandal? And you weren't even pregnant. You know, we can laugh about it now because you didn't let me go. You told me that the scandal always passes, and so will Dan's expose. Not as long as I live here. In Los Angeles, no one cares if I date the wrong guy. I mean, they don't care about anything I do. I have the chance to reinvent myself. Reinvention is for starlets from trailer parks who want to be you. Seriously, do you know how few friendships make it out of high school? We finally got to the good part. You can't leave now. But you were the one that said we're better when we have our own territories. Remember Paris? Right bank, left bank? Well, then move to the West Side and we'll meet in Central Park! And when we do, there will be enough light for both of us to shine. Yeah, but I'd still be living in my own shadow. I have to go. But there's no Sarabeth's in L.A. Or Serendipity. Or me. Please just think about it.