On that patio, I sat and listened to his stories of falling apart. I looked at his broken posture, his tired eyes and need of sympathy. I had none to give. I was annoyed and irritated at this person in front of me. He was a mirror of a long forgotten me. I gave him advice, but he won’t take it. I didn’t. We crawled back to the knife that cuts so tenderly.  He says, “I wish I was more like you, I wish I had your attitude”.  I’m not sure if he’d really want it.  I sipped some more soco and ginger-ale. It was cold and smooth going down on a night like that night.  I remember thinking, ‘what doesn’t kill us will make us stronger’. He’ll learn on his own. Nothing is ever the end of anything. Silence became longer than the words spoken and he called it a night. Another sip and the ice cracked in my cup. I couldn’t see a single star on that cloudy night.

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