The word God asks a question and then answers it before there is any chance to wonder. - Miranda July

He didn't call me for a few weeks. This was customary within our friendship, confide and retreat, but I wondered. I wondered if perhaps our last conversation had been an overture. Not the conversation, exactly, but the silences within it. There had been many dark pits of tea-sipping silence; looking back, I could imagine placing my hand on his hand while kneeling in one of these dark pits. And in such a pit could one even be sure what one was doing? One might seek solace in a friend and literally go inside this friend to get the solace; and the friend, being old and familiar, might give especially good solace.

He's stuck at 3:14 a.m. with only the moon to talk to.

Your sentimentality softens all the edges, you’re misremembering. Take a moment to recall it as it really was: fucking hell.