I know. ... I know. He's-- always in my heart. I know. But I don't want him there. I want him to be here. I want to yell at him, and cry with him, and laugh with him ... I want to see him roll his eyes at me like I've done something particularly stupid again, or hear him finish the end of my sentences ...

[Taking another deep breath, he clenches his fingers into his crossed-over arms all the more.]

... Thank you, Jehan. I'm sorry I'm such poor company.