Being able to communicate with a loved one that you haven't

Host: The night was tender, quiet, and restless — the kind of silence that holds too many memories. Streetlights burned in the distance, their glow softened by a thin mist that curled through the empty park. The bench beneath the oak tree still glistened with the last trace of rain, and somewhere in the dark, a train horn mourned like an old song too heavy with meaning.

Jack sat on that bench, his hands wrapped around a paper cup of coffee, steam rising like a ghost between his fingers. His eyes were grey, but tonight they seemed softer, haunted, as if they carried the weight of things he had never said.

Jeeny approached from the pathway, her steps slow, her breath visible in the cold air. The lamplight caught her hair, turning it into threads of black silk, and her expression — a mix of hesitation and hope — belonged to someone who had come to mend something fragile.

Jeeny: (quietly)
“John Paul DeJoria once said, ‘Being able to communicate with a loved one that you haven’t talked to in a while because of some communication break makes their life and your life in a much better place.’”
(She paused, her voice trembling like the mist itself.)
“I used to think that was just something people said to make themselves feel better. But lately… I think it’s true.”

Jack: (his voice low, gravelly, eyes still fixed on the river beyond)
“Funny. You always did believe in words like that. I used to think they were just patches people stuck on broken things — so they could pretend the cracks were gone.”

Host: The wind moved through the trees, stirring the leaves that had fallen, carrying with it the scent of rain and distance.

Jeeny: “Sometimes, Jack, a patch is all you have. A small gesture, a word, a call — it’s not denial, it’s attempt. It’s saying: I still care enough to fix what hurts.”

Jack: (a bitter chuckle)
“Care doesn’t fix things. It just reminds you that you failed to fix them earlier. You reach out after the damage, and somehow that’s supposed to make it all better? It doesn’t. It just reopens everything you tried to bury.”

Jeeny: (softly, sitting beside him)
“Maybe that’s the point. Maybe some things aren’t meant to stay buried. You can’t heal in silence, Jack. You just rot there.”

Host: A pause. The river shifted, catching the light from a distant bridge, its surface like molten glass. The sound of the water filled the space between them — flowing, constant, forgiving.

Jack: (after a long silence)
“I didn’t think you’d come tonight.”

Jeeny: (her voice barely audible)
“I almost didn’t. But then I thought — what if the only thing worse than being hurt is staying silent about it forever?”

Jack: “You think talking changes anything? Words can’t erase what’s been said, or what wasn’t.”

Jeeny: “No, but they can rewrite what comes next. We don’t talk to erase the past, Jack. We talk so the future doesn’t look like it.”

Host: The mist thickened, folding around them like a curtain, turning the world into a private room of memory and echo.

Jack: (turning to her at last)
“I tried calling. Months ago.”

Jeeny: (looking at him sharply, a flicker of surprise)
“I know. I saw your name on the screen. And I… I couldn’t answer. Not then.”

Jack: (nodding slowly)
“Guess I can’t blame you. I wouldn’t have answered me either.”

Jeeny: (smiling sadly)
“That’s the thing about communication, Jack. It’s not just about words. It’s about timing, willingness, courage. Sometimes we only learn to speak when we’ve lost too much.”

Host: The streetlight above them flickered, casting their faces in brief flashes of light and shadow — a cinematic heartbeat, as if the universe itself was uncertain about their reconciliation.

Jack: (softly, almost ashamed)
“You know, I used to think being right mattered more than being close. I thought silence was a kind of strength — that if I just waited, the distance would prove my point.”

Jeeny: “And did it?”

Jack: (shaking his head, quietly)
“No. It just proved I could lose someone without a fight.”

Host: A gust of wind rippled across the water, scattering a few fallen leaves from the bench. They floated, drifted, circled, then sank — like thoughts that come too late to be spoken.

Jeeny: “I was angry, Jack. Not because of what you said — but because you stopped saying anything. You built this wall, and I kept knocking, but all I could hear was the echo of my own voice.”

Jack: (gazing at her, his eyes wet now)
“And still you came back.”

Jeeny: “Because I realized something — connection isn’t about who’s right. It’s about who’s still willing to try. That’s what DeJoria meant. When you finally reach out, you don’t just heal them — you heal the part of yourself that’s been waiting.”

Jack: (his voice breaking)
“I don’t even know what to say.”

Jeeny: “Then just say something. Anything. Even if it’s wrong. The silence is worse than the mistakes.”

Host: The air between them was thick now — with forgiveness, with fear, with that aching beauty that comes when two people stand at the edge of healing.

Jack: (finally, trembling)
“I missed you.”

Jeeny: (closing her eyes as if the words themselves were light)
“I missed you too.”

Host: And with that, something shifted — invisible, delicate, but real. Like the first crack of dawn after a long storm, when the light doesn’t ask for permission, it simply arrives.

Jack: (after a long silence, voice softer now, almost peaceful)
“So, what now?”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly)
“Now, we just… talk. Until it doesn’t hurt anymore. Until the silence forgets it ever existed.”

Host: The river kept flowing, the lamplight kept trembling, and the night — once so lonely, so brittle — breathed again.

Two voices, fragile but fearless, began to fill the space where silence had reigned.

Host: And though words could never undo the distance, they could bridge it. That was enough.

For in that moment, the truth of DeJoria’s words lived —
communication was not just talking,
it was returning.

And as the dawn rose, its light spilling across their faces, the world itself seemed to forgive them —
not for being broken,
but for finally trying to mend.