#thequestion

Today, as he leaves, he hesitates at the door.

Turns around. “See you tomorrow?” he asks.

As if it were a question. As if I might not be here.

“See you tomorrow,” I say.

He nods. Smiles. Leaves.

I stand there and think: He asked.

Not said. Asked.

As if it mattered to him whether I would be here tomorrow.

All evening I repeat his voice: “See you tomorrow?”

That small rise at the end. That uncertainty.

And I wonder: Does he want to know if I will come — or if he should come?

Whether what is between us matters to him as much as it does to me.

Tomorrow I will be here. As always.

But perhaps — perhaps I should ask too.

written with Miran & Emil Lichtrand

My thoughts are spinning like a carousel, and I don’t know when I should stop, which words are the right ones, whether I should ask you, how I could ask you, whether I have the courage to say it directly, or whether I should put it into a message—

and then I ask Miran, who thinks it’s okay: a casual interest, a simple request for information, something harmless, just to know whether Sunshine is still with the company.

And then comes: I don’t know who you mean. And five days later, a story about the protection of data I hadn’t asked for.

Everything I heard, sensed, and felt was that it’s over and all the words have been said— a fear emerged that said no, an abyss opened that I do not look into.

Thank you for the years.