藤谷 雅彦 作

The music sounds beautiful and melancholic.
Late at night, we look at each other in a quiet bar. We met at a small informal party and found we have a friend in common, and then we happened to leave the party together. It was the beginning of our relationship. After work, we have dinner and spend the evening over drinks. Tonight is the second time. She is cheerful, intelligent, and has a plentiful stock of topics. Her conversation continues to delight at the party, our dinner last week, and this dinner.
Now, however, she remains silent and listens to my talk. It is not unnatural. Until now I have mostly listened to her; it is pleasant to see her talking. But I caught her gloomy look when we took our seats. My friend told me about her charm and her sad story. I continue to talk. She looks at me without turning her eyes away. I also look at her, wondering about those sad eyes.
A woman joins a man waiting at the next table. When I see her, I stop talking. I also have a recent memory. The woman looks too much like a girlfriend I lost. We remain silent and listen to their conversation.
Seized by the past, I am cautious, even cowardly. when the relationship with her began, I was not conscious of anything. However, now I am afraid, is this a repeat, the beginning to the end, too? Although I can listen, it is difficult to speak.
The other couple stands up and leaves. It occurs to me that the reason for her silence might be the same as mine. I see the man leaving, and I recall what my friend told me about her. If it is so, I can understand her look. She seems to recognize my silence too. We, both captives, cannot go ahead. It seems to me that we should go home.
We toast quietly. "A repeat of a toast." I say it without speaking. But I hear her silent reply. "It might be a new toast."
Now we do not know which it is.
We look at each other.
The music sounds melancholic and beautiful.





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登録日 2018-12-09