The Rectangle

I sat by the window. It was cold, actually too cold, but I did not care. I stayed there anyway. Outside, the moon stood bright above the rooftops. Its light fell on the panes, but to be honest, it did not interest me very much.

I held the rectangle in my hand and watched it go dark. After a few seconds I tapped it again. It jumped back, and I to the side. For a brief moment I thought something that was not there.

It was ridiculous. So what? I knew that. I believed in it anyway. A grown man. A whole man, with hands, legs, breath, hunger, tiredness, and still my inside hung on this small box of glass. I could have laughed. Maybe I did. But it did not sound like laughter.

No insult, no goodbye, no judgment. Only this empty rectangle. This box. Those strange two signs, small and final. I told myself it meant nothing. Then I told myself that this nothing was exactly what meant everything.

And right away I began talking to this rectangle. Why are you waiting? Why are you humiliating yourself? Why do you need a word from a person who gives you none? Who allowed you to be this hungry? I just did not want to be alone, I answered this rectangle of glass.

After that it was quiet for a moment. Or maybe it had been quiet the whole time. I do not know. I stood up, walked through the room, thought and thought until I forgot why I had stood up in the first place. Then I sat down on the edge of the bed. My T-shirt stuck to my back. Outside, somewhere, a car rushed past as if everything was okay. Maybe everything is okay. Just not with me.

I thought of all the great words I had laid out for myself. Attachment-disordered. Addicted. Anxious-ambivalent. Highly sensitive. Beautiful words. Great words. Words with white walls and cold light. I could say: This is how I am built. That is just how it is. What am I supposed to do?

But in that night nothing explained anything. My body believed no term. My heart did not race according to theory. My hands did not tremble theoretically. My stomach did not tighten because a book had described it that way. I simply waited. And the waiting was ugly. It made no sense, and still it ruled me completely.

I took the rectangle back into my hand. My thumb hovered above the glass. Three letters. I stared at them as if they had the power to save me or finally humiliate me.

A very small tiredness, but it was enough. My thumb hovered above the glass again. Then I placed the rectangle face down on the glass table. Now it looked harmless. A dead animal made of glass.

For a moment nothing happened. And in this nothing there was something I could hardly bear. No hope, no message, no sign, no answer. I sat there, with sticky skin and a beating heart.

Samu