And for the first time in years, he didn’t try to name the feeling. He just let it be.
Je m’en fous —not as a wall, but as a door. je m en fous
Jean sat on the bathroom floor. He said the words aloud for the first time: “Je m’en fous.” And for the first time in years, he
“That’s rough,” Jean said. And for the first time, he said it without trying to fix it. Without offering solutions, or sympathy he didn’t feel, or a pat on the back. He just sat there, letting the man’s grief be a thing that existed, like the cloud above them or the crack in the sidewalk. or sympathy he didn’t feel