entitled, irrational integrity

Laurent. 2 p.m. -ish.

Not really a fan of vegetarian food, but for you I'll make an exception. They do make great cappuccinos.

Despite it being spring here, the weather still felt like it was winter.

You beckon me over to table outside facing an alley where office workers were lining up to grab their lunches. You sat there with your latte at hand as you stare blankly at your tiny black notebook.

"What are you reading?"

"It's nothing." You answered, as you tucked the book beneath you palm on the table. "It's a memory book; from teenage diary entries to drunken scribbles."

Small talk. Was never really good at it.

We spoke a fair bit. Followed by several laughs and then silence. You opened up your notebook and flipped through several pages as I stare into blank space.

"Here. Write something." You said, as you gave me the opened notebook and a blue pen.

It was an empty page. The page next to it had a familiar hand-writing with an ink mark of only few pens would make. It writes,

" Our scars are not only meant to show our wounds; but how we had recover from them as well."

As I read it, I gave a slight smile and said, "Did she.." You nodded with a big smile by the side.

However, I didn't write anything but I promise you, next time I will. You gave me a disappointed look. I turned the book and pointed at the written page and said,

"I told her that."



written by I.O.