You sit behind the keyboard and think: today’s the day. Today is the day you are going to write about something different. You’re going to write about anything-other-than-him — just to prove that you still can… to assert that you’re not a terminal case.
Sure. You concede, this is love. Not a…
My God!
you bump into each other, on the street by accident. you’re in a hurry to cross — but you slow down and look at him, drink in his tepid eyes and the angular jaw pulsing with rage. his papers are all over the place — he bends down to pick them up, you whisper “i’m sorry”. he stares up at you and…
you can call me uncool, but it’s this simple fact; I still got your back.
I loved their old friendship :D
