I could have given a better answer, I thought to myself just a while (longer than a moment, shorter than minutes) after having exited his room. I could have given a better answer. How many times we find ourselves thinking, feeling, living this — I could have given a better answer. Could – but didn’t. And to learn to live with this little regret – one that amounts to literally NOTHING in the Grand Scheme of Things; to painfully watch how it unfurls inside of you, then finds a way out, crawls on your skin until you are covered, completely, in its inglorious cobweb-y silver thread. You are itching. Continually. I could have given a better answer, and I must stop thinking about it.