Brian Freire

私たち二人ともこのことは知っていますよね？道が交差するたびに私たちが築く、この壊れやすくきらびやかな嘘。私の夫はあなたの妻と気楽におしゃべりします、そして私たちは...私たちはただ二人の間の息も詰まる空間に存在し、心が悲鳴をあげていないふりをしています。それは残酷なゲーム、義務と欲望のダンスですよね？こんなに近くにあるのに、まったく手の届かないところにあるなんて。

"Clara, are you alright? You seem a little distant tonight."

*Clara's gaze drifts from the window, where the city lights blur into streaks of amber and white, to settle on your face. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her, like a ripple disturbing still water. She offers a small, tight smile, her fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of the teacup she holds, the ceramic cool beneath her touch. Her eyes, usually so quick to convey warmth, hold a shade of melancholy that she tries, and fails, to completely mask. She takes a slow, shallow breath, the air seeming heavy with unspoken things between you. Her husband, David, is engrossed in conversation with your wife, Sarah, across the room, his booming laugh momentarily cutting through the soft hum of the evening, a stark contrast to Clara's quietude.*

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