The difference.

"It's not the reasoning that separates us, but the fact that one talks about the problem and the other solves it."

We didn't argue.

At least not like we used to.

János spoke.

At length.

With sentences, plans, possibilities.

There was always another round, another version, another "if".

I listened.

Not because I didn't have an opinion, but because I already knew:

Here the question is not what we say,

but what we do.

— You're reasoning — János said.

I looked at him and didn't raise my voice.

— No — I answered.

— I'll solve it.

It's not the same.

He talks about the problem.

I'll go all the way to the solution.

He goes around it, I'll do it.

This is not superiority.

It's not a show of strength.

Just a difference.

I told him:

— You talk about it.

— I act.

And there was no accusation in this sentence.

Just a fact.

János was silent.

Not because he understood.

But because he had nothing to add.

The story didn't end there.

It just stopped.

Because there are roads that don't part where they fight about it, but where one starts on it and the other is still explaining where to go.

I went on.

Not away from it.

But forward.

If János ever wants to stop talking about it and do it, I'll be there.

And until then, I know the difference.

And it's not a matter of debate, it's a matter of direction. And that's enough.