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"I can't write anymore," Frank says without turning to him. His gaze is fixed on the sunset, golden rays filtering through lush green leaves. "I have all these ideas in my head, but they're like... too fast to catch, too liquid to hold on to."
Gerard nods. Go on, it's supposed to mean.
"I see things - colours and people and nature - and words pop up in my head, but just as quick as they came, they disappear again." His eyebrows knit together in what looks like week-old frustration. It doesn't fit the way the warm breeze and the birds' singing tell them to have fun, to enjoy the summer. "I lay in my bed and my mind is running, my head is spinning because it's just ... so much. But nothing ever comes out of it. I hate it," he says, "it makes me feel useless." His head turns and the hazel eyes fix on Gerard. "You know the feeling?"
"I do," Gerard says, because he does.
"It's just so annoying. How the potential is there, the potential for something great, but it's never gonna happen 'cause I just can't get my shit together."
Gerard wants to object. He stays silent. Close by, a bird is running through the grass, looking for food.
"I don't understand why it's like this...," Frank goes on. Gerard watches as he shoos some flies away. "I don't know what triggered it. I don't know how to get out of it."
On the other side of the street, somewhere in one of the flats in the apartment complex, a telephone starts ringing. A car door slams shut.
"I keep having these bouts of creativity that I can't work out. Nothing ever makes sense. It just leaves me sad and exhausted."
They are silent for a few seconds before Gerard asks, "do you cry?"
Frank shakes his head. "No ... no, I don't. There's nothing to cry about, really."
"Sometimes, when I feel like that, I start crying. It can be awkward, to be honest, when it happens in public or when I'm playing some game with Mikes and just, like, tear up, but it usually helps. It's like a cleanse, you know?" he says. "Flooding out your demons."
"Yeah?" Frank looks back at Gerard. The late summer sun makes his face glow. Gerard nods.
In the distance, the church bells chime. Frank bites on his lip ring. He just got it like six weeks ago, the piercing. He's been so excited when he called Gerard, told him how his Mom surprised him with it. An early birthday present. Gerard looks away.
"I haven't felt right in a while," he says. "The days get brighter, but I just feel more tired. I go to bed at 9 at night, I wake up at noon the next day, take a nap around 3. Close to 15 hours every day, but it's just ... not enough."
There's an ant crawling aimlessly past their feet where they sit in the grass next to the sidewalk. Frank scratches at his nose.
"I don't feel like it's July. This feels like it's supposed to be November, like those days when the fog just doesn't disappear," Gerard concludes.
It's Frank who nods this time, and it's Gerard who understands.
The birds are getting louder. The sun is creeping further towards the horizon. The trees are blocking the light from Frank's face, but when he gazes over at Gerard, he still seems to glow.