It’s 2007. You see her at work. Fall in love instantly. You work hard to have her fall in love with you. Then you live together. You have fun. You have friends. You travel to the end of the world. You climb mountains in the Andes and New Zealand. You have a beautiful daughter. You move back to your country. You have a boy now. Two amazing kids. You would do anything for them. You buy an apartment. Finally you have a home. A real home, this safe place from your childhood, in which your family lives, the people you love the most. You dream of so much more. It has been thirteen years and you still love this woman. You love her your own way of course. The wrong way, probably.

And one day [11 January 2020, approximately 11pm] in two minutes flat everything that was precious to you is vaporized with two phrases. It’s over. It was just an illusion. You lived for something that in fact didn’t exist. It is like removing your bones while you are still alive. You cannot stand. You try to protest, you try to argue, but you cannot move, you’re just a grotesque and dislocated piece of slimy flesh on the ground.

The pain. The loneliness. The fear. The culpability. When does it stop ? When does it fucking stop?