“We’re just not gonna work anymore.”
The way she said it, was like she’s laying out facts; sky is blue, clouds are white. Her dad died from diabetes, or 3×3 is nine.
So sure. So sad.
“You think so?”
“Well that’s the truth,” she replies.
I want to say truths are not facts. Giving up is her truth. Mine is being hopeful.
But I let her truth wins. Not because I want to, but because I should.
“Okay. You’re right,” I say. “We are not gonna work anymore.”
I bow and starts to walk away. She looks surprised, and I can assure you that’s a fact. What’s the truth behind the look, I cannot guess.
But matter of factly is, I don’t really care anymore.