glass_half_broken raze a million years ago, or maybe ten, angela told me a story about two married couples who became friends. one couple owned a small store. the other couple became their best customers. the four of them always talked about getting together for a picnic. they never made it happen. it wasn't important. they had time. the husband half of the couple who owned the store got sick with something you don't walk away from. when he was in the hospital and about to die, his favourite customers showed up with a basket and a blanket, and they had their picnic — not in a park, but in the last room he would ever see, when he was past the point of being able to eat anything, an iv drip force-feeding his body nutrients it could no longer recognize. she thought it was a beautiful story about the transcendent power of friendship and the poetry of the moment. i told her i thought it was depressing. there's no poetry for me in waiting until someone is almost gone to show them what they mean to you. people do it all the time. i understand why. but i'll never stop thinking it's wrong. if you care about someone, i think you tell them. you open your mouth, you swallow your fear, and you tell them now. because now might be all you have. but that's just me. 211022 what's it to you? who go blather from