you did not know that too much wine makes me talkative, yet you call yourself my friend. you have never read a single line of my poetry or fiction, yet you call yourself my friend. your thoughts are an empty column. (my thoughts spill across pages, ones you have not read.) your conservative views enrage me, and I leave. why are we friends? parallel lines never touch, but travel forever in the same direction. perpendicular lines touch at a single point and never cross again. you think that I hate you. I am trying to understand our lines.