They announced the delay of the train, heading out of the metal shells of the speakers declared that "the region of 7027 hours 16 and 40 for Lecco, Sondrio and Tirano leave with about forty minute delay. " And this mishap spread more salt in our wounds, we freeze in this new time that we spend together. We met by chance coming from the windows of the station of Porta Garibaldi, where they reflect the skyscrapers of the business center: I looked at those reflections, she brings her usual walking distraction, we nearly collided. "Hello, Chiara" "Hello, Andrea." A little 'cold, and not because it is November and cold and sharp wind down from the Alps has invaded the city. Cold for an indecipherable and unresolved issues between us, a malaise that has poisoned our relationship, which has polluted the love and stayed. A week already we had not seen and there called. Not even a text message.
We sit on the lower edge of the flower, in the twilight. Light characters on the board every now and then dance and crossing: a train leaves, another arrives, another delay accumulates. But we can not eradicate this black that devours us, to throw on the table the issue. We do not know if we can revive this love, if we suppress it. Nor do we know if our friendship will survive, in this case. We remain inert in this languor, indolence boredom minute rushing. Are missing at least thirty the train's departure, they have not even yet brought to the track. It's cold now, ice that we carry has teamed up with the atmosphere. It began to rain, the wind cuts like a knife. "Let's go get a coffee at the bar?" She nods, the aid to rise.
The bar is warm and smells of grilled sandwiches. Do we prepare two cups of coffee and bring them to a table. Out of travelers arriving at or leaving the station to take the green subway line or corridors leading into the Corso Como, the white taxi start over again. The light is cold, the neon giving a aseptic this venue. But that argument does not take off. Clare continues to look at me in passing, looking for something in the bag. Digs up bag and takes out the make-up, remodeling is the eyes, lips. I feel limp, like a puppet after the show. I want to shout: "So, this love is gone? Tell me. " Here, among the people, the waitresses with the cap, professionals with twenty-four hours, students with backpacks, the Senegalese sitting in a corner. It is not my style. I do not want to humiliate me or her. Announce that the train is arriving at platform 14. "Andiamo" I say and my words come out disheartened, empty note. Drops already dark, I realize when emerge from the subway stairs. Particularly noteworthy are the oasis of "Self bar full of drinks and snacks.
The regional is coming: his white eyes emerge from the rain, they become progressively larger. When it stops, the crowd let him vent and then we go up, we find a place in the leading car. It is no longer the time is not the place. I take from my folder to the newspaper, Chiara puts the white iPod earphones in his ears. The train leaves, makes a hissing sound before putting the long tunnel. Among us only silence, a sharp, pointed silence that rend the heart as an ice punch.
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