You have a new theory you would have said to him, you did even, but he was already waiting there, waiting not to listen. It was that pretentiousness was heroic as even if it didn't quite make it, it was aiming for something beautiful, honest, maybe painful. He called you pretentious, an appropriate use of the word. Yes you were obviously the pretentious one, the one whose words were bathetic, while he of course had that Kantian finesse. Your words weren't referenced so fell onto the table between you and were ignored. You write about him now as he's gone, gone untill you can ignore him in a chance meeting awkwardly because he makes you cringe and feel sick.
You write about him now as he has been edited out of a happy present. You toy with how successful erasing him completely would be, is the past's reappearance inevitable? Maybe its probable but has none of that certainty which would free you. You could live in order for it to be very unlikely. You decide to inflict the most insistent punishment and also, luckily for you, the one that offers the allusion that you haven't chosen it- silence. Silence as silence just confronts him with himself. You didn't realise you had such a malevolent side but every month of absent minded silence is sweet. You hope that you will forget this course of action and it will become like breathing. Silence is the final response to the questions posed during that time. You refuse to be the one who breaks it, to do that would be time travel, which is neither possible nor desirable.