I am sick of the facelessness of the walls, of the bitter silence that greedily ate the space, sick of the chaos of thoughts and loss after our conversation. It did not last long: a series of leading questions, a piercing look, the clarity of words and the indistinctness of answers, scarlet blots on your clothes and a dress stuck to your skin. Trembling of hands, lips bitten into blood, a quiet “no”, over and over again, until the hysteria began, which you prevented in time, having finished digging in my head and leaving me in complete incomprehension, with a gaping hole instead of common sense.

Because I couldn't do...