what if I told you I’m not like the others?
the spare keys are in the usual place. I am not. I climb the stairs, opening a door that’s not mine anymore. the evening is filtering in, through the slightly open shutters, revealing the bare walls and the empty furniture. I want to turn on the lights, but I can’t. there’s no electricity. there are pans and plates but no food. I open the tap. the water comes out dirty. disgusting. I’m so thirsty. I let the water run until it’s clear again. I want to cry, but I don’t
what if I told you that I will never give up?
I grab my backpack, and I drag it into that bedroom that used to be mine. there’s only the mattress lying on the bed frame. no blankets, no sheets. only a small pile of boxes near the bed, ready to be moved away. my clothes smell, from that one last bath I took at sea. I need a washing machine. nobody knows I’m here, not even myself. my phone is almost dead. no one is looking for me, anyway. I don’t have any money. I am hungry. I let myself fall onto what’s left of the bed, and I finally cry
what if I told you that I will ruin your life?