He recognizes bad, not sad.
He sees the movie villains, politicians and nazis and thinks-
"Oh no!" and "Good riddance!"
He sees dying creatures and broken families and loved ones leaving-
He knows not what to feel
Since he is immune to sadness, being a man after all
Though his father and blood brothers were capable of crying.
He cannot read fiction.
Because fiction relies on emotional investment.
And he is just as frugal with feelings as he is with pennies.
"I just need to cry, that's all."
I say as I sit beside him.
He is stone faced.
That same white light was shown to him, but he rejected it.
"C'est la guerre." He sighs.
I cried the car-ride home that night, and he just sneered-
"What did you expect to happen?"
Sure, you can show him my story-
But judging from the past, I doubt he'll care.
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