“You’re gorgeous” he said but she didn’t believe him, she knew that she wasn’t gorgeous. But she wanted to escape from the loneliness where she had been imprisoned. She had got accustomed to that loneliness, but she had never accepted it, thus she couldn’t wait to find a way to get out of it. In that moment she thought that he was the way that she was looking for. “You’re gorgeous” he kept on saying , but, in fact, he hated her and all that she was. A hatred that he couldn’t restrain and came out in all the insults that he rumbled on. That phrase “You’re gorgeous” murmured in those moments for her was only another odious offence. His hate deeply permeated her soul, shattering her self-confidence and her hope, moreover she felt guilty and ashamed. She thought that she deserved to be treated that way. She felt sordid and dirty. She confined herself in silence, hiding herself behind a role to play. Nobody had to know the underlying tragedy of her life. Nevertheless she couldn’t hide the truth to herself. When she looked in the mirror she could clearly see a grimace on her face and that wrinkle between her eyebrows. She knew that her Springtime was fading, it wasn’t Autumn that she was fearing. That deep crease on her skin was the symbol of her worries and her sorrows. She was loath to see what she had become. A puppet without a soul. She was tired to suffer and mope. She wanted to remember how she was before. Sometimes she got lost in long à rebours that gave her the illusion of a blissful relief. The oblivion that she used as a curtain was beginning to vanish. She didn’t want to hide anymore, she wanted to find traces of her. She wanted to know if there were people who still had memories of her; there were and they spoke about a person who loved to smile and laugh, who eagerly shared her passions and her emotions. She clung with her nails to all the words they said. A new hope was creeping in her mind. But her life ran on divergent tracks. On one track ran her renewed craving for a different life, on the other her reality. The gap between the two tracks was something heinous. Every time she looked around seeking new shores, she found him and his rage pounding into her life again. She crumbled. Her wish to reach heaven was only making her grieve more. The contrast was too cruel. It was better to go back to hell, to cast herself in the ghetto where lepers live. Where nobody can see your rotten flesh and the worms, not words, that come out from your mouth. Hell and oblivion again, so she couldn’t feel the pain of a choked life anymore. She knew well this sensation of complete surrender to an irrefutable reality. She recognized it. She had breathed it since she was a little girl, when it forced her mother to sit on an armchair all day long and smoke her life off. It was depression. Harm and protection at the same time. The false friend that makes you believe that it’s better to lock up inside instead of facing a shitty life. But even though she knew it so well, when she tried to shake it from her shoulders, raising her head she could only see empty rooms, bars and walls.