first i thought I was dying, yea I was going to die. It was too harsh, too hard...too malignant. you see. It was not the first time. It definitely wasn't but there was a sense of defeat. A sense of
shit, it happened again and it will happen again and again until you turn into a stone and die
but I didn't turn into a stone cos I was crying so loud into the fucking pillow and felt like everyone was watching me. What I didn't feel was that I was really turning into a stone. Bit by bit with each and every fucking tear that went down my cheek. By day break , I had turned to a stone. A big one, and I was dead. Really truly dead, and then they picked me up and took me to the sea and just left me there on the sand. They didn't even throw me into the fucking water. They just left me there to rot. but I didn't...I was refined you see, all that water in the goddamn waves made my skin so smooth, and then one night it happened. I was alive.I had risen from the dead...not afraid of anything, but I knew it was going to happen again and I was going to die. But then I thought and I thought a lot. . . and I told myself: whatever .
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