there are best friends, he says.
i know you hurt, he says, somebody dropped you too hard before you were ready, and now your bruises have bloomed like strange flowers and you wear them like a shield, but
snow is a miracle he says,
and there is no such thing as can't, he says,
and dont forget about music, he says.
and then he says nothing
and i say thank you, and he says nothing, but he looks at me and nods, and we stand there because both our bodies know that silence is a way of saying what cannot be said, and then we turn and we walk home slowly because our eyes have finished watching how miraculous the sun can make a moment just by leaving it behind.