Sometimes I see myself fine, sometimes I need a witness. And I

Host: The bar was nearly empty, save for the faint hum of a jukebox that hadn’t played a song in an hour. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey, smoke, and the kind of loneliness that sits beside you instead of across from you.

A single neon light flickered over the counter, bathing everything in bruised blue and gold. The rain outside drummed steadily against the window, each drop a soft confession.

Jack sat slouched at the bar, tracing circles on the rim of his glass. His eyes, sharp and gray, looked distant — like a man watching a film of his own life in silence. Jeeny sat a stool away, her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold.

Between them, the unspoken hovered like cigarette smoke — visible, fragile, lingering.

Jeeny: “Dar Williams once wrote, ‘Sometimes I see myself fine, sometimes I need a witness. And I like the whole truth, but there are nights I only need forgiveness.’”

Jack: smiles faintly “Ah. The anthem of people who’ve seen both sides of themselves — the beautiful and the unbearable.”

Jeeny: “It’s more than that, Jack. It’s about being human. The split between who we are and who we wish we were.”

Jack: “And who we pretend to be.”

Jeeny: softly “Exactly.”

Jack: swirls his drink, watching the amber whirlpool “You ever look at yourself and feel like you’re two different people — one who wants truth, and one who can’t survive it?”

Jeeny: “All the time. But that’s the point. We’re contradictions walking on two legs.”

Jack: “You sound like you’ve made peace with that.”

Jeeny: “I’ve made peace with being unfinished.”

Host: The rain grew heavier. It blurred the city lights outside, turning them into streaks of molten color — like the world itself was crying in watercolor.

A soft song began on the jukebox, an old folk tune about regret and grace. The melody threaded through their silence like memory come alive.

Jack: “Forgiveness,” he murmured, “that’s the word that hits hardest. Everyone talks about truth like it’s salvation. But sometimes truth just hurts. Forgiveness... that’s mercy.”

Jeeny: “And mercy’s rarer.”

Jack: “Especially toward ourselves.”

Jeeny: nods “Because we know the whole story. We remember every lie, every cowardice, every moment we looked away. How do you forgive what you can’t forget?”

Jack: “Maybe you don’t. Maybe forgiveness isn’t about forgetting. Maybe it’s about remembering differently.”

Jeeny: “How so?”

Jack: “Like... instead of seeing failure, you start seeing survival. Instead of shame, you see effort. Maybe forgiveness is just perspective with a gentler light.”

Jeeny: smiles faintly “You’re not as cynical as you pretend.”

Jack: grins “Don’t ruin my reputation.”

Host: The bartender wiped the counter in slow circles, pretending not to listen. The sound of glass against wood echoed softly, a rhythm that fit their conversation — careful, intimate, unfinished.

The neon sign above flickered again, and for a second, its reflection shimmered across Jack’s face — half illuminated, half hidden, like truth and forgiveness locked in quiet combat.

Jeeny: “You know what I love about that line? ‘Sometimes I see myself fine, sometimes I need a witness.’ That’s... raw. It’s about needing someone to look at you and say, Yes, I see you — and you’re still worth loving.”

Jack: “Yeah. The tragedy of self-perception — sometimes your own eyes aren’t enough.”

Jeeny: “Because sometimes they’re mirrors cracked by memory.”

Jack: “Or fogged by guilt.”

Jeeny: softly “That’s why we need each other. Not to judge — to witness.”

Jack: “You mean, to stand beside the truth instead of running from it?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. A witness doesn’t fix you. They just prove you exist.”

Host: The rain softened, turning from percussion to whisper. A few patrons had left; only the hum of the city remained beyond the glass.

Jack turned to look at Jeeny, his expression unguarded now, the weariness in his eyes no longer masked by irony.

Jack: “You ever have those nights? The ones she’s talking about — the nights where truth feels too heavy, and forgiveness is all you want?”

Jeeny: nods slowly “Yes. The kind of nights where you can’t even lie to yourself properly. You just sit there, waiting for grace to arrive uninvited.”

Jack: “And does it?”

Jeeny: “Sometimes. And when it doesn’t, I pretend it did. That’s how faith works — in small, desperate lies that lead you back to hope.”

Jack: smiles sadly “So you fake forgiveness until it’s real.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Jack: leans back, staring at the ceiling “Maybe that’s the only way any of us make it — pretending we’re forgiven long enough to start acting like we are.”

Host: The fire exit sign glowed dimly in the corner, casting a quiet green across the room — like a promise of escape. But neither of them wanted to leave.

The jukebox hummed softly, then clicked, falling into silence again. Outside, the rain stopped altogether.

Jeeny: “You know what I think, Jack? The truth and forgiveness aren’t enemies. They’re dance partners. Sometimes one leads, sometimes the other.”

Jack: chuckles “And sometimes they step on each other’s toes.”

Jeeny: “But when they get it right... it’s beautiful.”

Jack: looks at her, his tone soft, almost reverent “You’ve been that witness for me tonight.”

Jeeny: smiling “And you’ve been mine. That’s how it works — one night at a time.”

Host: A brief silence filled the space, fragile and full. Jack lifted his glass, not in a toast, but in quiet acknowledgment. Jeeny did the same with her coffee cup, their reflections trembling in the glass like twin ghosts of forgiveness.

The neon light steadied, the color softening to something warm.

Jeeny: “Maybe Dar was right — sometimes the whole truth isn’t what we need. Sometimes it’s just the grace to look at ourselves and not flinch.”

Jack: “And someone beside us to remind us that we’re still human.”

Jeeny: whispering “Still worthy.”

Jack: smiles faintly “Still here.”

Host: The rain had stopped completely. The windows gleamed with faint light from the streetlamps, streaked but clear. The world outside was washed, reborn.

Jack set his glass down. Jeeny stood, pulling her coat around her. Neither said goodbye. They didn’t need to — the silence between them said everything.

As she walked out into the calm night, the door closed softly behind her, leaving Jack in the glow of the quiet bar, alone but not lonely.

He sat back, staring at the ghostly reflection in the mirror behind the counter — his face, his eyes, his witness.

And for the first time in a long while, he whispered — not a prayer, but something like it:

Jack: “Tonight... I only need forgiveness.”

Host: Outside, the streetlights gleamed in the puddles like scattered halos. The night was no longer cruel. It was honest —
and that, in itself,
was enough.