Day 101 of 14,600

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One evening, I had met someone in a mall. We had coffee and then we went for a drive.

While driving around, he said that he had an eighteen year old son. He didn't meet him often.

I remember I asked him what respect meant to him.

He said, "If you don't kill me, you respect me. That's respect."

A lot of time has passed since then. But I think often. Sometimes more deeply than I would like to.

He meant it.

Sometimes you don't get to hear someone's story. But remember it and you think that maybe there was something bloodstained somewhere.

I hope he is happy wherever he is. Happy and eased out.

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