I stared at myself tonight:
Judging every minute.
Her reasons for what she wrote,
How she feels, why she's frustrated.
The length of that email,
Her persistent requests for unveiled truth.

The audacity, I mutter.
The obvious hopelessness of it all.

He doesn't know what to do:
Calling up his friends.
How to respond, why this is happening.
What she expects of him
This late in the game.

Nothing has changed, he complained
But I'd hate to lose her.

He hangs up the phone,
Towel on the rack
And dreads the conversation
He's mastered many times.

All the while thanking me for the advice.