We meet at a bar.
We small talk.
I tell him a thing about me, quite personal, which I guess I think might give him a window into my… my what? My heart? My soul? My mind?
‘What am I supposed to do with that?’ he says afterwards, ‘everyone has pain in their life.’
All thought of reconciliation disappears. He is the ugliest person in the world to me. He looks like a reptile, his eyes swollen in anger because he doesn’t know what to do
‘Nothing, I reply, ‘you don’t have to do anything.’
But I know what I want. I say goodbye and leave.