TGIF.

I just get sad when I read your words, he said. I had nothing to retort. Another man looked me straight in the eyes and reminded me the dirt, the grime, the nothing-left-to-lose were what I had wanted; I've abandoned them whole. I'd gladly take sad words. The clean, clear silence is so unbearable in comparison.

A lone orphan lives in the Paris gare, and wasn't everything more beautiful so many decades ago, all steel locomotives and small-tabled bistros? How I miss Paris in the Spring, how I miss a good ticket to somewhere. Do you remember that summer in Spain? We didn't know a word of Spanish; I never wanted to leave.

I wept when I told him your story. I always weep. If I were half the person I pretend, I'd be by your side and never leave. You'd have no fears; I would carry them all. Instead we are oceans apart; my tears do you no good.

These words... They do no one any good.

Forgive me.