A Dying Friend

My dying friend Today I met a friend at the local café. He had lost wight his days were numbered. No, he was not afraid of death it held no promises of everlasting life. I feared he might say something stupid as forgiving his enemy, why should he? Or say I love to someone he didn´t love, because it was expected. His hopes were to be left alone in a room and only talk to his past and perhaps laugh a little, Life had for him Always been ridiculous