Why are you so scared to eat alone?

Since last Tuesday I noticed something new in your behaviour. Suddenly your eyebrows looked smaller and the rhythm you always had when walking down the corridors had changed. Your hair wasn’t straight as it used to be, but in greasy locks almost hugging your shoulders and jacket which collars were so miserable that they almost leaned against the floor. Your shoes looked sharper. Still, there was something that made the presence of you sound like waffles sizzling in the pan with brown cooked butter, with low noise but certainly energetic behaviour. Your spine might have changed its position, since you were standing straight, and it felt like your hair and jacket tried to hold on to something, something in the past. Last Tuesday there was cooked pasta and green zucchini sauce for lunch. The canteen’s tables were full of bread crumbs at twelve, since everyone had their own white mild non-tasty white breads which were actually 10 cents cheaper than the lunch at the canteen. And there they all were, eating in groups, or pairs, with whoever they agreed to find in a space. But then there was you, sitting alone at the small window table number 12, gazing through the window, sitting so peacefully that not even a band of bats could have made you change your posture. You were one of the two eaters that actually took the pasta, looking so dried out in the bottom of the pan that it formed brown figures on the cardboard plate. Next to it you had a glass of juice. There you were, sitting at the round table, with yourself, sticking your fork into the pennes one at a time, not caring much. From the back of your head I noticed that you smiled softly. I was on my way home and I waved at you and you didn’t notice. Why are you so scared to eat alone? You asked. ‘’It takes only a spoonful of patience and courage, maybe that kind of courage that comes with time, and comes with a feeling that you are comfortable in being alone. ‘’ You continued.
‘’That you really enjoy your own thoughts’’ .