some wounds never heal.

it was that moment when he shared about the professor who had wanted to take his life. he recounted the situation in detail, and in my mind, a parallel slowly unravelled like a video tape. i tried to focus on the present but it was difficult to concentrate. i felt my gut being punched repeatedly, my breath taken away. deliberately, but as casually as i could, i unclenched my fists and relaxed my fingers. outwardly, my face probably looked horrified at his story. inwardly, a waterfall started to bleed.

once again i asked myself: how can i save the world when i wasn’t even able to save a friend?

c’est telle­ment mystérieux, le pays des larmes.