Marcel and I were sitting across from one another in the dreaded sofa once again, but the difference between earlier today and now, was that neither of us were speaking, and we hadn’t spoken since we had walked in through the door, which only served to make it tense and awkward between the two of us.
I couldn’t help but as myself why I was complaining about all of this, because regardless of whether we were talking or not, I found that I was always unhappy. When he wasn’t speaking to me, I wanted him to be speaking to me, and when he was, I wanted nothing more than for him to be quiet. It was an endless cycle of wanting the opposite of what you were getting.
I had no idea how long we had been sitting here, but I was becoming more and more aware of the fact that the sun was setting outs
