When I woke up, I didn't recognize the woman beside my pillow.
But she knew how many pieces of sugar I put in my coffee and how I got the scar on my left hand.
The wall is full of photos of me and her, more than 300 of them - the same sentence is written on the back of each one: "First meeting."
I felt a note in the deepest part of the clock, it was my own handwriting: "Don't believe her. Today is not the first time. Check."
It turns out that every time I fall asleep, I forget about her. And she, day after day, makes me fall in love with her again.
Who is she? Did someone do something to me - or did I ask for this oblivion myself?
