They say. They say that architects are original. I drive in the evening darkness. Orange lights illuminate the road. In the distance, the sky is still sunset. But the darkness is already immersing my car into the night. I drive and think back to architects. Original. I don't know if all of them are. Perhaps only some. Maybe just the one who designed the dentist's office. Rust-colored electric gate. A few steps illuminated by lowlights. The house is surrounded by wooden strips. Inside, small glass spaces. Some visible. Some hidden, polished. I walk.

Today I went to lunch with friends. I had calculated a series of problems I might encounter. I knew I had to hide behind an image of myself that they have. An image that doesn’t correspond to my present. Something I’m used to.

I had forgotten that during my last attempts to enjoy moments with a group of people, I had felt unwell. When I arrived, I started talking and playing with my friends' children as I would have normally done years ago.

When I meet a friend, I should only ask them to give me the pleasure of spending some good time together. Maybe to talk about something that only they can understand, considering everything we have been through.

I often manage to do this, but sometimes I can’t. And often it happens that people run away. I think they’re afraid of the truth they might share. Sharing their truth with me, means showing me that they are fragile. 

Sometimes I just want to block her number. Forget I met her. And other times I wish it was easier to see her. Maybe the latter is the way I feel when I don't text her for more than one day. It may seem like a short time.

But she’s the one I text everyday. She’s the one I text to say “Hello”.