We were never supposed to be friends. You were only supposed to introduce me to your pretty friend, I was only supposed to try my luck there and our “friendship” should have died there, right there.

It didn’t, because our demons were related, same home town, mother tongue and all that jazz. We’ve enjoyed quite a few good times and a fairly descent number of fights, ever since.
I fell flat on my face on a beautiful evening; you were there, helped me pick myself up sand start again. Your anger was scary, your temper, screams, yelling, made me cry; because I didn’t know what else to do about it. I felt helpless when you were in pain, it made me sad that I couldn’t help you in anyway.

I know you, intimately, closely, but I don’t know you at all; if it makes sense. I should know you better than before, maybe I do, but everything about you right now is like smoke from a cigarette.


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