Sleeping in a Small, Cold Room.  

sleeping in a small, cold room.

Between four walls, I find myself every single day, a wooden door, and a little window that shows me nothing. There is not much light inside or outside. I can hear myself breathing very clearly due to the silence. I am lying on my bed, sitting on my black chair, or standing in front of the mirror, watching closely as the minutes pass.

I am thinking of everything; my thoughts are a total mess, and so is my bed. I could open the door and go out, but something is keeping me inside. In front of my mirror, I stare. Is that me? I ask myself.

My clothes are heavy, or is it just me? They seemed to be very wet. My head is also hurting, and my arms are weak. Can I wave to this person who is on the other side of the glass? Can I tell her a story she told me when I was young? Would she hear me as clearly as I once heard her voice?

I close my eyes slowly, and everything goes dark. I do not dare to open them again. I like where I am and how I feel here, so I will leave the place when I feel bored or it is late. 

The hours pass and I am still gone; will I ever return? Then someone knocks on the door; they seem to want to break it. Here I stand up and face the door, which is being brutally beaten. Poor door, he just wanted to keep close. 

A soft hand touches my chick, and when my eyes are open, she says, "Dear, is it time to eat?" She looks familiar, and she is beautiful too. She always calls me "my lovely daughter." Who is this woman, though?