Night of the Triangle

She sits crossed-legged on the grass straight across from me, smoking one long drawn out cigarette. I don't know what comes over me. Out of our silence and her puffs of smoke, I yell.
"Can you just answer one thing for me? are you passionate about anything?"
A shocked expression quickly fills her face. My companion to the left of me even questions.
"Where did that come from? What are you so angry about?"
A tight lipped frown quickly followed her immediate shock. She then follows the same pattern of questioning.
"Why are you angry?"
I mumble another lame excuse as my mind rushes to compensate what is happening.
Fix this.
The conversation moves on, and so does my conscience, easing back as it always does-- in order to forget and act like it's nothing. Again silence engulfs us. She breaks it this time.
"You never answered my question. Why are you angry?"
I start to mumble my usual response, but I stop in mid-sentence.
"I...I think I'm angry at myself. I feel like I've changed so much over the years but when I'm back with you, I can tell I haven't at all. And all I want is for you to see this difference in me and recognize it as growth. Deep down, though, I'm deathly afraid that there is no difference."
She pauses and says in a quiet voice,
"Thats all I wanted to hear."