Anonimo Torinese
Mangiavamo da soli
Comfortable silence. Consecrated silence. The silence of two people who know each other so well that speech is sometimes superfluous. It’s not that they have nothing to say to each other, it’s that they don’t need to say it now. It’s not that they’ve said everything they have to say, it’s that they know they have all the time in the world to say it.
Even though they sit in silence, they still communicate. They converse through the small signs of the body, the tacit signals sent by the angle of the wrist, the suggestive slope of the shoulder, the eloquent tease of a dimple. Later, when they return home, they’ll talk and what they have to say will be all the sweeter for the delay.
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