It happened again.
She had been waiting for the night out with her friends. She had been enjoying the thought about long drinks, soft talks, and easy-going moments on the cosy sofa in the darkness of the bar.
It all had happened. The drinks were icy and cooled the heat of the throat. The murmur of her friends cuddled her and she found herself laughing at their witty remarks of utterly meaningless matters.
Then it happened. She felt it painfully. The feeling was familiar, felt so many times before, in so many places. So many years, always the same.
She was an outsider. She had no need to reveal herself. She had no desire to know more about them. The chitchat and the small talk made her feel dizzy and the meaningless of everything hit her hard in the face.
She left, no, she escaped, and she knew that once again they stayed on, maybe speculating a bit of her whereabouts, but finally forgetting her. That was she, they’d say. Not a social being, but pleasant enough.
In small bits. For a while.