The First Sentence

We sit at the table. You sit in front of me and you wait that I say something. I’m quiet. I pretend I watch the waiter if he is coming. I cannot look into your eyes. In my head I repeat the sentences I formed for such situations. Easy, superficial sentences that comfort you. Words, which accurately describe our relationship and settle our places in the world.

You are angry with me. You waste your precious time on me and I don’t even try to fake the image of a non-existing system. You don’t know how much effort it was to pull myself together and meet you. It’s only now that you are facing with the fact how it is to disappoint each other, I knew it before I had left. We cannot do anything.

I would like to tell you how I ended up here. The first signs about which I thought they were only accessories of an ephemeral fed. It made me feel terribly good, though. I was happy that I can also be part of the whole. I enjoyed such an elated state of satisfaction that I never did before. Then I wanted more and more, and fear showed up inside of me.

The fear that I changed for good. About what I thought it made me part of the whole, slowly displaces me from my own reality and I won’t regain myself again. I’m afraid that with myself I will lose you as well. But what terrifies me the most is that I will lose the only thing that gives sense to such disabled moments like this one. I look into your eyes and you turn your head away. In your embarrassment you wave to the waiter, who shows up immediately to take the order.

We sit in front of each other in silence. The forks and knives sometimes clash to the plate, as if they talked instead of us. I would like to ease the situation. I stretch out my arm on the table and I touch your hand. Time is crucified. We look into each other’s eyes. A teardrop runs down on my face.

I sit behind my white desk. White paper lies in front of me and I think of you. We sit in the restaurant in front of each other. We have our dinner in silence. The forks and knives sometimes clash to the plate, as if they talked instead of us. I would like to ease the situation. I write down the first sentence: "It would be good, if you knew everything without telling you; now I would be graceful for that."

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