The doctor said,
“You must learn to love, love someone or something, your husband, your son, a job, even a dog.”
But not husband, son, job, dog, tree, river.
Did she tell what she was feeling?
The floor seemed to give way.
She had a feeling of sliding down an incline, of going down, of being always about to drown with no one to help.
Not even her husband?
Not even her husband.
And he was away.
Not even her son?
The son... yes, but that girl had no children.
By the time she left the hospital, she was asking herself,
“Who am I?”
She asked me to tell her.