„He was the neightbour of my aunt. As it became time for me to marry, my aunt asked him if he would be interested. So my parents met him. And his parents met me. They decided that we would marry. We didn't meet before the marriage. The night of our wedding in our bedroom was the first time we spoke with each other.“
Silence.
We both look at her child, a girl with such clear eyes she seems to look through my skin onto the shock that has frozen my tongue.
I cannot ask about what they spoke when they saw each other the first time. I cannot ask what she felt before, then or now. I cannot ask if she is happy or if she will do the same to her daughter. I cannot. I stay in silence, unable to ask. It's different when you read about it than from getting told.
Cause, where are the borders of intimacy? And, when do I hurt someone and might not see the line that I might have already crossed?
As we say „chuda hafez“, her face is closed and far.
And as she closed the door of the traincabin behind her, there's suddenly an empty space next to me that I cannot fill. Should I have asked?
Keine Kommentare:
Kommentar veröffentlichen