He’s silent, thinking. When he doesn’t talk for too long, I say, “Spit it out.”
“The way your mind works continues to amaze me. Or maybe confuse is the right word. I’ve never known anyone so able to accept things as they are without a shred of denial.”
“I wasn’t always this pragmatic. Life kicked my ass pretty good when I was a kid. Lucky for me, too, because it brought out the fighter in me. If I was never knocked down, I’d never have discovered the strength it took to stand back up. And to keep getting up after every future kick, knowing that I could.”
He murmurs, “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls.”
“And the most massive characters are seared with scars.”
His heavy exhalation sounds depressed. “Fuck.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You know Khalil Gibran.”
“I love him. Have yo
