I met a man today that looks like Mr. Roger's (the real one's dead).
His wife is kicking him out and he has to find a new place to live. He tells me a story about how his aunt died on the toothpick that holds together your sandwich.
His glasses were nearly surrounded in red and thin, easily breakable, like his smile.
He was trying to exert his presence to all in the room, but I knew he was really just crying out for help- flirting but really wanting to be held.
I know how he feels. I've been there.
He was long and thin, but fighting not to disappear completely. It seems like an exhausting fight. I want to tell him that in the end, we all disappear completely from this mess and we go it alone with no one but God.
But I don't want to break his glass heart.
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