He sat across the table of a person he once called his best friend, now a stranger. He looked at him ordering his food and turning towards him with a question on his lips.

Well, I can’t complain… Pause.

(He lied. A lie buried behind the curtain of his eyes. A lie buried in the chaos of his yesterday. But don’t pity him even with his thousand battle scars because they are only evidence of the thousand battles won. You can collect dry tears on the battlefield of his mind. But those tears are now laughter for you, if ever you need them. You can hear memories haunting the undergrounds of his mind, but he makes them bleed now on bloodthirsty canvases. You see, he is the result of broken dreams, of lost-and-found “hims”; yes! He is that strong. He rose among the ashes of his yesterdays.)

Resume … I’ve had a thousand lives which one would you like to hear?