We are emotionally available, we have words to express our feelings. We rally for our friend in need. We are men.
I can’t trust her.
You shouldn’t trust her.
She’s admitted to everything I’ve found out but nothing more.
You’ve got her cornered. She’s on the defensive.
She won’t even talk to me.
Let’s have a beer.
I’m a mess right now. I’m in a bad space and it feels like it will never end.
We can understand why. It’s natural to feel that way. You were blindsided.
She’s been cold, callous, like she doesn’t care.
We know that sucks. We care. We’re with you.
I wasn’t there enough. I’m partly to blame.
This is no time to beat yourself up.
You’ve been beaten up enough for now.
She never said she was sorry. She hasn’t said it was over.
We are friends and we do our best, but it’s a tough situation, it’s not looking good. It’s early, and raw, and horrible.
We show up. That’s what we can do.
Grown men cry. They do. Right now they do. We don’t look away. We are tougher than that.
She’s not responding to me at all. Should I text her again?
No.
No.
Never beg.
Don’t surrender what power you have.
I caught her. The ugly details, the horrendous details.
It’s hard not to think about it.
We have whisky and beer and a pipe. The night is calm and dark, the stoop quiet, our moods heavy.
The human heart is vulnerable.
I’ve made mistakes.
We all make mistakes.
Be good to yourself if you can. Make sure you eat. Make sure you sleep.
We don’t know what’s next. We don’t know what’s going to happen. We will be there, we will check in. We will face whatever comes. Alone, together, men.
