"Why havn´t we met in different circumstances?" That always was my thought when I saw Dean, a man in his beginning 30th, handsome and what I heard from others an interesting personality. I had the feeling that normally we could have been really good friends, I found him familiar and often understood his reactions because they were exactly mine.

"Well, come on chap, I´ll bring you home, can you walk?" It was a real bad time for me when I first met him, I couldn´t accept the job I had, the way I lived and even myself I found really disgusting. To be honest I had begun to escape from selfhate and feelings of guilt and shame by drinking, well, not quite a good way, I know. Completely drunk I was able to forget, it was a short but necessary relief. Even if I felt more and more ashamed of myself, it was a vicious-circle I wasn´t able to break out. One night Dean found me sitting on the pavement with eyes not seing what´s going on around, deeply depressed and nearly alcohol-poisened. I must have been in a desolate state because Dean, coming from a party or something like this, a little drunk too, felt responsible to bring me home. It wasn´t more than 200 metres and even to my own surprise I was able to walk, but that killed the possibility to become friends. He has seen me in the most vulnerable state without any selfcontrol and nice fassade. It was my black inner life he had seen, and it was quite normal that he despised it.

What a poor boy, what helplessness, how must he suffer. I look at him and I have the painful feeling to see myself some years ago. The same expression of no hope in his eyes, the same struggling to manage it and exactly the same method to escape. How often I was drunk like that and next morning ashamed. But that´s past, I´ve managed, but I know there´s always the possibility to loose again strength and power, to become a mental cripple and that´s something I never never want to become again. He must help himself, I´m not strong enough and still too labil.

It was several weeks later when we met again, in a little café, I wanted to thank him so I went straight to his table. At first, when he recognized me there was a spontaneous smile, his eyes lightened but immediatly became reserved again. My trial to get in contact with him failed. Other randomly meetings here and there were also painful, because in his presence I always felt like minor dust, his face reminded me at my complete lost of selfcontrol this night at the pavement.

I saw him again and again, I saw pain in his eyes when he tried to come in contact with me and it nearly broke my heart to stay cool and reserved. I know he was quite an interesting person, he had perhaps deep thoughts and ideas. There was something in his quiet behavior which attracted me and at home I often thought it might have been fantastic to become friends. But he retired, no wonder.

For months I didn´t went out. I stayed at home, reading, learning, trying not to think of my problems, all the troubles that bother me. I stopped drinking consequently but I knew it wouldn´t help to get rid of my selfhate and my tendency to escape in the one or the other way. It was a risk to begin going out again but I knew even my strictly staying at home was something like an escape. I wasn´t stronger than before only more anxious. I didn´t want to long for friendship or love any more, it would be hard but I swore myself: no more tries to get in contact with anyone.

And here I am, sitting on a small table, being alone, but this is exactly what I want. On another table at the window sits Dean, we cannot speak together, we are separated forever. There´s only the exchange of a long glance: I know you, I like you, I even feel attracted of you, but please keep the distance.