A man is never completely alone in this world. At the worst, he

Host: The night had settled like an old memory over the abandoned pier. The sea whispered its endless monologue — a language of foam and sighs — while the air smelled faintly of salt, wood, and time. The city’s lights glimmered faintly in the distance, but here, at the edge of everything, there was only stillness.

Host: Jack stood near the railing, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. His reflection wavered on the dark water, fractured by the small ripples of the tide. A few feet away, Jeeny sat on the edge of a bench, legs crossed, her notebook resting against her knee. She was sketching, though it was too dark to see her lines clearly.

Jeeny: (softly) “Cesare Pavese once wrote, ‘A man is never completely alone in this world. At the worst, he has the company of a boy, a youth, and by and by a grown man — the one he used to be.’”
(She closes her notebook and looks toward him.) “I’ve always thought that was one of the loneliest, most comforting things ever said.”

Jack: (exhaling smoke) “Yeah. It’s like he’s saying the past is a ghost that never leaves. You can lose everyone else, but you’ll always have your former selves haunting you.”

Jeeny: “Haunting or keeping you alive?”

Jack: (smirking) “Maybe both. Maybe that’s the trick of memory — it saves you and suffocates you at the same time.”

Host: The sea lapped against the wood, the rhythm steady, timeless. A gull cried somewhere in the dark, its voice thin and distant.

Jeeny: “You ever think about that? That no matter how far we go, we’re always walking with the people we used to be — all the versions of ourselves trailing behind like shadows.”

Jack: “Yeah. Sometimes I feel them more than I feel the people around me. The boy who dreamed too much. The young man who wanted everything fast. The one who thought pain made him interesting.”

Jeeny: (gently) “And now?”

Jack: “Now I think he was just scared.”

Jeeny: “Of what?”

Jack: “Of not being seen. Of disappearing into the noise. Of living a quiet life that meant nothing.”

Host: The wind shifted, carrying the faint rustle of the waves further inland. Jeeny watched him with quiet eyes — not pitying, but understanding, like someone who had seen her own ghosts too.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s what Pavese meant. That we’re never truly alone because every fear, every joy, every failure stays stitched inside us. The boy, the youth, the man — they’re not gone. They’re watching.”

Jack: “And judging.”

Jeeny: “And forgiving.”

Jack: (after a pause) “I don’t know if they forgive. My younger selves were cruel in their optimism. They thought life owed them something.”

Jeeny: “And your older self?”

Jack: “He knows life doesn’t owe anyone anything. But he still looks back sometimes and misses the arrogance.”

Jeeny: “Because arrogance is just another word for hope.”

Host: The moon slid free of a cloud, silver light spilling across the pier. The water shimmered, the boards glowed faintly, and for a moment, time itself seemed to pause — suspended between recollection and revelation.

Jeeny: “You know what I love about that quote? It’s not really about loneliness. It’s about memory as companionship. That even when you think you’ve lost everyone, you’re still surrounded — by your own echoes.”

Jack: “Yeah. Like ghosts that know your every mistake but still stick around.”

Jeeny: “That’s the thing — they can’t leave. You’re their home.”

Jack: “Then no wonder I feel crowded.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “You and me both. My childhood self still visits sometimes. She’s quieter now, but she looks at me like I’ve betrayed her.”

Jack: “What did you do?”

Jeeny: “Grew up. Learned compromise. Stopped believing everything was possible.”

Jack: “That’s not betrayal. That’s survival.”

Jeeny: “Try telling her that.”

Host: The waves crashed harder, as if the sea itself had eavesdropped and wanted to join the conversation. The air grew cooler. Jack flicked his cigarette into the dark, the ember arching briefly like a falling star before vanishing.

Jeeny: “You know, I think Pavese was trying to say that memory can be mercy — that the man who remembers who he was is never completely lost.”

Jack: “Maybe. But it’s a double-edged mercy. Some memories don’t keep you company — they keep you captive.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe freedom isn’t forgetting. It’s learning to sit beside your past without letting it pull you under.”

Jack: “So, like therapy?”

Jeeny: (grinning) “Or grace.”

Host: The light on the pier flickered, casting their shadows long across the planks. The sea reflected them — broken, rippling versions of themselves, merging with the black water.

Jeeny: “You think people ever outgrow who they used to be?”

Jack: “No. I think we just collect more selves. We become crowded with history until we forget who’s steering.”

Jeeny: “So identity’s not a story — it’s a chorus.”

Jack: “Yeah. And sometimes the voices argue.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “And sometimes they harmonize.”

Jack: “On good days.”

Host: The silence between them deepened, but it wasn’t empty. It was full — of all the invisible people they used to be, all the laughter and pain and unfinished sentences still echoing in their bones.

Jeeny: “You ever talk to your younger self, Jack?”

Jack: (after a long pause) “Sometimes. Mostly to apologize.”

Jeeny: “For what?”

Jack: “For being too hard on him. For thinking he had to have it all figured out.”

Jeeny: “And what does he say?”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “He says, ‘You still don’t.’”

Jeeny: (laughing softly) “He’s right.”

Jack: “I know.”

Host: The sea calmed, its waves turning into slow, deliberate breaths. The stars had fully revealed themselves now, scattered like forgotten letters across the sky.

Jeeny: “You know, Pavese killed himself not long after writing that. It makes the quote hit harder. Maybe he was talking to himself — reminding his soul he wasn’t really alone.”

Jack: “Yeah. Like a man writing to the versions of himself that might still listen.”

Jeeny: “And that’s the saddest part. We always have company — but sometimes, it’s not enough.”

Jack: (quietly) “Because what we really want isn’t company. It’s peace.”

Host: The wind died down, leaving only the gentle hiss of the tide. Jeeny reached over, placing her hand lightly over Jack’s — a quiet gesture, not to comfort, but to acknowledge.

Jeeny: “You think we’ll ever find peace with our pasts?”

Jack: “Maybe not peace. But maybe one day, understanding.”

Jeeny: “And that’s enough?”

Jack: (nodding) “That’s everything.”

Host: The night deepened, the horizon melting into a single color — black tinged with silver. Somewhere in the distance, the faint wail of a ship’s horn drifted through the air, long and mournful.

And in that moment,
Cesare Pavese’s words lingered between them,
like a prayer whispered to memory itself:

that no one is ever truly alone,
for within each of us lives
the boy who dreamed,
the youth who dared,
and the adult who remembers —
all bound together in quiet conversation,
like three souls walking through time,
each one keeping the other alive.

Host: Jeeny looked back at the dark sea, her voice barely more than a breath.

Jeeny: “Maybe we don’t lose our younger selves after all. Maybe we just become their future.”

Jack: (softly) “And maybe that’s the only immortality we ever get.”

Host: The sea whispered in reply — endless, eternal, and kind.

And the two of them stood there a while longer,
listening not to the waves,
but to the soft, familiar company
of who they once were
— and still, somehow, are.