Clara
The night falls differently when one does not feel like anything. The apartment is quiet, but not an awkward silence. It is rather empty. As if the walls were too clean, too tidy, too alien.
I leave my bag on the kitchen counter and stay there, leaning for a few seconds.
I should cook something, I have vegetables in the fridge... Pasta. Bread. I could prepare something simple.
But I have no appetite, neither physical nor emotional.
I open the fridge just to confirm what I already know. I close without taking anything out.
The day was long. The meeting with Alexander left something hanging in the air. It wasn't awkward. He was honest. And honesty, sometimes, exhausts more than an argument.
I walk to the room and change without thinking too much. I wear the most comfortable paj
