the world breaks every one

 

 

mundane moments in a mundane life
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...and afterward many are strong at the broken places."
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“It’s not a big deal.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded agreement but did not believe me.
“I mean it.”
“He’s not worth it,” she said consolingly.
I growled and spun viciously on the barstool. When it squeaked to a halt, we were face to face.
“You know tomorrow’s tournament? That little piss-ant tournament? If I had to choose between getting him back or winning the tournament, the tournament wins every fucking time.”
“Oh.” The point drilled through the still air. “Then, uh—would you like a drink?”
“Fuck, yes. I would.”
“Oh, gosh. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
“When’d you do it?”
“Thursday.”
“Thursday?”
“Tournament started Friday.”
“Friday?” Revelation. “Damn.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m terrible. Whatever.”
She laughed. “You’re a pool player.”
The sun shone gold, the sky blazed blue, and he looked around, unsure about what one did outside on beautiful days. He tried to relax in the lawn chair but gave up and sat upright, all angles and good posture.
“Umm, see here,” he began. I knew more than he knew, but I would let him tell me. “I—I think I just want to play pool.”
“I understand.”
“You—what?”
“I understand.”
“You’re not mad?”
“If anyone should understand, it would be me.”
He linked his hands behind his head and stretched out luxuriously. Tilting his face up toward the sun, he closed his eyes and smiled at the clouds.
“You know, I think you’re right.”

 

 

ernest hemingway