It is strange how one can miss another so deeply without even meeting. This longing often comes at night—not when everyone is asleep, but when everyone is still awake. Your soul feels lost among others, so close yet never truly with them. It happens when one hears laughter from the living room but cannot feel joy, when one sits near the fire but cannot feel its warmth, or when one sees the branches of young trees swaying in the cold winter wind but cannot feel the chill. Funny how sometimes, we even miss the feeling of a cold wind on our skin. And in those moments, a longing arises—for something warm, something cold, for a feeling that whispers, "Hey, you're alive." It is in these moments that people dream of dark green forests, stormy seas, or the bright sun shining on Italy's mountaintops.
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"Therese, sweetie, where are you?" shouted a man coming up the stairs. Therese didn't respond. For the last hour, she had been watching raindrops race down her bedroom window. They moved so quickly, so freely, and she wished she could be like them—unbound, flitting from one place to another without a care in the world.
She heard him call again—it was Richard. "Sweetie" - what a weird thing to say - she had never been sweet to him, mostly irritated. Irritated by how he always said something embarrassing, prioritized his interests above hers, and never, ever chose her first. And, oh, he always had dirt under his fingernails.
Yet, she had grown comfortable with him. Her mother liked him, even though they had only met once. He took care of her—financially, and surprisingly, even emotionally. He knew how to calm her and remembered what candy she liked, though only when it was convenient and didn't interfere with his plans.
"I'm here" Therese said with a hint of annoyance in her voice. But then, she composed herself and managed a smile. Richard stood in the doorway, looking like a giant stuffed into human clothes. His hair was a mess, and his eyes, though bright, were empty—devoid of any thought beyond what was necessary for immediate moment.
"I've booked your favorite restaurant for this evening" he announced proudly.
"Oh, is that so?" Therese replied with a growing smile. She decided not to overthink it and simply go with it, making the best of what she had. Perhaps things with Richard could change. "We're going to Bernie's?" she asked, but instantly realized that she had made a mistake.
Richard rolled his eyes and groaned. "No, your favorite is that little Italian place by the river, right? Pasta Home?" he asked, barely concealing his annoyance.
Therese was used to this. She often pretended to like Richard's plans and gifts, even when they were disasters, because otherwise, he'd get upset, blame her for ruining the mood, and lament his "thoughtful gestures." He wasn't like this because he didn't care—he simply couldn't handle his own failures.
"Yes, you're right. How could I forget? I love that place. Thank you, Richard" she said, forcing a smile. They had been there twice. The last time, Therese was convinced she had made better carbonara at twelve years old.
"All right, let's meet downstairs in an hour. I have to finish my sketch" Richard said, glancing at his fingernails.
"Okay"
"Love you!"