You can only talk so much about things that are never, ever going to happen. My brother's at home with his dog and his cat and his wife is at a friend's. You ca n only go on so long about feelings that never, ever actually touch you. No matt er how much she told him âI love you,â he found it would depend on the gifts that he bought her, or how badly she was hurt when the boss was cruel at work. But he'd just say âI love you,â and he'd reach out to her. He was feeling li ke shit when I came to visit and walked through the door of his tiny apartment. We went for a walk through the park by the market so we could get some air. And I told to him all things intended to help him, especially that, simply because i t was ending, that that didn't mean she was always pretending. Real happiness wa s there. I could see and I could tell: it was real love that they felt. And I'm sorry it didn't end well, but some things just don't - that's life, and you shou ldn't blame yourself. And all of these things, well, I truly believe them. Our p aths and our futures are hidden in mists that are stretching out over impossible distances, totally obscured. And I really do think that there's probably more g ood than anger or selfishness, sickness, or sadness would ever completely allow us to have in this life, I think I'm sure. But that doesn't mean it's bad. We we re walking towards our dad, while getting out of that school bus, and he just sa id âI love you,â and he reached out
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