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For so many years her nights had been more similar to escapes than to moments of quietness. Her husband slept too close to her and often he crushed her body with his, almost suffocating her. So she tried to distance herself from him, but he got even closer, ‘till, in her desperate attempt to gain a little of space, she found herself on the edge of the bed ( many times she fell down). In Winter there was also the battle for blankets. Her husband cocooned in covers, while her teeth were chattering for cold. She could only pull the covers with all her strength and hold them tight. Day after day she got used to sleep seizing the mattress with one hand and with the other holding the blankets. A habit that went on even when she was awake; always feeling on the edge of a chasm, clinging to life with one hand, holding her few certainties with the other one and having the haunting sensation that somebody was going to crush her.

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