He remembers how hard he cried the day you had to move away. You were his only friend, and he was losing you, too.

Years later, he saw you seated at a table in a quaint little coffee shop. The kind he didn’t usually go in but he was moving before he realized it, sitting down across you abruptly. His heart was beating fast. He both missed and resented you.

“Hey, it-it’s me, Michael. Kaiser.” He couldn’t believe the way he was acting. He hated how fragile he sounded. “Do you remember?”