As I walk up to the restaurant table, around which were gathered twenty chairs, it occurs to me that what I want is not within my power. There was a particular way I want the evening to unfold – namely, that you and I should sit close to one another – but I cannot simply impose my desire onto anyone else, and least of all you.
I pretend to pick a chair at random so that those already present cannot guess what is on my mind. My heart sinks a little as I realise you will not be able to sit next to me; but again, I do what I am best at: I pretend. That nothing is the matter.
Finally you arrive, and you probably see me on one side of the table, as well as the dozen empty chairs on which you could sit. I want to call out to you to come and sit here, somewhere close by, so that we may speak, and I may see you easily, but I dare not utter a word. It is all in your hands, all up to you where you sit and I will love you either way, whether you are close or far away from me.
But you’ve always had this ability to read my mind, it seems, for you very casually walk up to the chair right across from mine. Am I dreaming? No, it is real, this is real: out of all the chairs you could have sat on, out of all the people you could have been close to, you have chosen to sit right in front of me, close to me. Perhaps so that we may speak, and that you may see me easily.
You must have had some idea how much I wanted you close by. Could it be possible you sat here to make me happy? Could it be possible you were hoping for the same thing as me?
Words & Feelings 