Art of War

The fallout of my messy messy relationship and the tragic story of another friend lead to a renewed pact among us college blockmates. The pact centers on us being brutally frank with each other to knock some hard sense when we're in self-made pathetic mode. Forget being civil. Forget tact. Our friendship is now a no sugar-coating zone. Truth hurts and in this new-found hobby, we all agreed that the road to renewal is littered by collateral damage. Everyone is fair game.

And just like that, bullets came flying across two starbucks tables.
Unexpected. Piercing. Hot as they sliced through our pre-conceived realities of ourselves and our sorry affairs.I guess I speak for the group when I say that most of the attacks, were strangely familiar. They were truths sounded off by small voices in our heads. Truths we pushed aside. Truths we denied. Truths we chose to ignore. All we needed was someone other than ourselves to acknowledge them, say them out loud.

"The first time I met your ex, I already smelled bullshit."

Thanks friend, that certainly capped my year.