“What a shit night,” Demetri sighed for almost the 10th time. 

“Why are you so upset?” I asked, watching the cab meter tick over with every kilometre of bitumen we covered.

“No one even showed up. No one cares that it’s my birthday.”

When we got to his house he paid for the cab and got out and walked ahead of me up his long driveway.

I slowed, walking behind him in the moonlight. It was a silent in his neighbourhood, the only sound was my heels clicking on the concrete like the second hand on a clock.

Once again I felt invisible. 

“If no one even showed up, then what the hell am I?” I whispered into the cold night air.

He didn’t hear me.

After climbing into bed, I made him talk to me about anything and everything, knowing from experience that most men are like a beaver’s dam. Pull out a few logs  and before you know it the deep topics start to flood through. After a while he stopped giving me short answers and started laughing at my jokes. He started talking about his friends that night, and how disappointed he was. He turned over to face me and I watched his eyes become animated in the slither of moonlight that snuck in through his blinds as he began to talk and talk and talk. We talked of past loves and favourite memories. Of heartbreaks and future hopes. Of everything sexual we could think of. Of our friendship.  Conversations are best at 4am. The heavier the eyelids, the sincerer the words. Those are the talks you’ll remember, the details that you’ll forget. It’s okay not to know the answer and silence is not awkward. It’s shared, so share it more often than not. (Jeff Stuckel)

“Thanks Zie,” He said after a large break in the conversation. 

“For what?” I murmured, my face half buried into the pillow.

“You know. Being here. Being such a great friend. Making me talk and cheering me up.”

“It’s okay. Goodnight Demetri,” I yawned, the room progressively growing lighter with the 5.00am sun seeping through the blinds.

“Goodnight,” He rolled over. ”You have ruined girls for me, I hope you know that.”