At that time, I left the room, walked down the hallway, entered the bathroom in the hallway and looked at myself in the mirror.
I don't recognize myself, it's like looking at a stranger.
Some days I worry that if I look for my reflection, there won't be anything there.
I'm starting to look like her.
With emotional problems, withdrawn, small, even crazy, lost and exhausted.
I don't want to go crazy; I feel as tired as she does, my cardigan slips off my shoulder bone and I catch a glimpse of a wrinkled scar, one to match the runes drawn on the ceiling, I look at my hidden gifts that I simply, hid in the bathroom, that I look at.
In which they are there, hidden, in a hidden wall, which I put behind the toilet on a tile that looks like a secret entrance, they are clothes that I received, they are jewelry that I received, there were countless gifts.
Even if such as jewelry, some sweets that I get to eat in secret, in which I have because I am a geisha, a whore that my mother refuses to be
