I agreed and left it at that, preferring to volley the task of conversation and  give-a-shit to the pro. Honesty is a beautiful theory, but the remedy won’t always be taken. Either the bitterness of the spoonful or the twisted expression on the face which tries to swallow will taint the occasion, turning the doctor into a sick fiend, the patient to a thing of pity.  I had my beer, pipe and eight walls to keep me.  They had no legs to move.

“There are just so many better ways to handle it, it seemed so immature…”

By know I’ve learned to nod. The turn of the page that let’s us move on, whether or not we’ve skipped a word.

“I don’t care if you think he’s the biggest douche ever, I would never say that about anyone you were dating. But more than that, it’s the other things you said that hurt.. I don’t practice what I preach? That I shove my faith down your throat?  That I’m dumping my bullshit on you when I bring up my problems? That I want answers from you when I’m not willing to help myself?  I was just trying to talk to a friend, but if that’s how you view me I don’t know why we were ever friends in the first place.”

I nodded, sipped my beer, lit a partial butt from the tray, saying. “That’s a very good question.”

I’ve heard the door shut a dozen times since then. Each of us bitter, each of us cured.