A painful white color covered the surface of most objects that could be reached with the eye. Tables, chairs, walls, lamps, curtains, all the furniture shared the same insipid decoration that could hardly be distinguished from the padded room of a shrink.
White, the color of neutrality, impartiality, balance, serenity, which, however, in those circumstances conveyed nothing but impatience, anxiety, nervousness and a strange inner sensation that drove me to rebel against order and the indifference that surrounded me.
When the discomfort of the chair became unbearable, the walks to and from the window kept the train of thoughts, musings and paranoias, feeding and entertaining my mind.
Because the worst thing about waiting is not so much the time that passes but the multiple and sometimes crazy hypotheses that are created internally, trying to justify the delay in obtaining the expected response.
Constant glances at the clock without being able to pay attention to the time it was setting preceded a mental review of the words used in the brief note that quoted us in that place, at that time. At that moment hundreds of more appropriate formulations emerged from the depths of creativity that I finally sent you to, but it was too late.
I looked at the clock again and realized that as long as my impatience was less than the desire to see you, I could continue to wait, despite the uncertainty of not knowing if you finally received that paper, which turned into an airplane and thrown from my window, contained my first try and my last chance.