It was the end of the party, X o'clock in the morning. I was drunk, crying with my head on the table in front of two others playing cards - the host and the opponent. I couldn't hear anything, only my own sorrow about who knows what - my hate for cards, visiting, myself, everything, nothing. Whatever it was, I was crying as hard as I could with the least bit of sound, the others hadn't an idea of what was going on - perhaps even thought I had passed out. Who won the card game is anybody's guess, but the opponent subsequently left, leaving me and the host to an empty room.

"What's wrong?"
I moved to the floor where I cried more audibly, feeling more comfortable of doing so in front of the remaining audience. I didn't dare say anything, though, because I knew what was coming - I knew all my negativity was about to flow out and infect those in range, bringing my whole world down around me. He sat next to me on the floor not saying a word but trying to listen through the silence. He knew this wasn't the first time I'd been excessively upset - he knew I often fought the most unnecessary battles with myself, though he never criticized me for having done so.

Memory failing, I spilled my hatred toward my being in an incomprehensible commentary. I hated how I presented myself, I hated how I acted toward friends, I hated how my feelings controlled my bahaviour and that the fact my emotions were continuing to prove it to be true made me even more irate. I let every word out along with a waterfall of tears and snot. I also hated how ugly I looked when I cried.

But he still put his arm around me. "I don't care," he said in a most quiet and soothing voice. "Your flaws are what make you beautiful."