Member-only story
The Loneliness of Not Sharing Your Soul
Womanhood and big decisions
It’s Sunday morning and against all the forces that were telling me to stick to my diet and not come to the pastry shop, the force of tradition got its way and won this strange internal skirmish.
I have been doing this for a long time, leaving the apartment, walking a few meters along the red path by the road, entering the pastry shop, greeting the boy who works there, and sitting on the terrace at the big stone table under a small wooden structure that protects me from the sun.
Here I sit and always wait for my dark latte and my seed bread with cheese. I am a good customer, they always take good care of me with a great amount of cheese, so, today, having ordered a bit less was a request received with strangeness and of course, immediately forgotten.
Hopefully, as if my conscience was not watching, on the so-called diet-free days, there I pour a spoonful of sugar into the coffee, of course, to regret such an act on the way home.
While waiting, I take out the book I have been reading. For several months now a strange woman holding a cigarette in her hand and puffing the smoke that comes from her lungs and covers her mouth has been staring at me.
