Fucking scribblenauts. What below has nothing to do with the first sentence.
. He is older than me. Our writing is almost the same, cryptic. He was born on the same date my beloved was born.
. I understand what he writes, just whatever he writes, whom he writes for.
. He says nothing about moving on. A clear cut named 'we no longer have anything to do with each other'.
. I get what he means, simple as that. He said nothing about forgetting either.
. He has friends, a select few. But when I see him, I always blurt, 'a lone wolf who is understood'.
. He lives on. I may live on.
Say the least, I neither love nor hate him, personally.