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I woke up with the remnants of last night's lullaby on my lips and, pursing my lips, went to wake everything that was about to wake up anyway. I photographed every extension of my sleep and the closet that could have accommodated my bed. The smell of apples emanated from under freshly laundered duvets, ready for ironing, thrown into a pile that looked like a model of Kilimanjaro that I longed to climb. I simply lost my glycerin soap somewhere in the sheets.

One of these winters will deal with me properly, one of them will surely kill me. I don't believe it, but I'm cautious, just in case something happens. I don't believe it because they still call me a "spring girl," maybe that's why I should be more afraid than usual. For now, I'm as much as I've never been.

As punishment for the unfulfilled trips of the day before yesterday, I always dream of shoe stores. The apartment pulsates with things I could have taken with me, shaping a mountain landscape to make me even sadder, to make me regret it so much that I finally have to go. "Are you sad, sad enough? I can go on like this for a long time. So? Go ahead," she seems to be saying to me. She's stubborn, it's out of love. It's really hard to live in an apartment that loves you.

The next day I go shopping, visiting shoe stores along the way. You know, I'm leaving tomorrow for a trip, a long trip, and I need something light but also durable, something pretty, but something that covers my toes, because, you know, I don't like my toes, as you can see, especially those two, you know, the first ones... No, she doesn't know. And where are you going, if I may ask? I don't know yet, it's supposed to be a surprise. My apartment is a tall man.

I'd rather carve my shoes in the snow sometimes.

And then she comes to me, she always catches me when I'm trying on another pair. And even though I don't see him approaching, I already feel tired, and then I know he's coming.

"Are you leaving?" he greets me with an ironic smile

. "I'm leaving," I reply, as if this time I really intend to

. "Where to?"

His smile spreads to the surrounding shelves and the display window, where a saleswoman, tired of cleaning windows, is eating a sandwich. Soon, they'll be able to sell that grimace of his like a commodity. Good morning, how much is that smile, the one that shows off the crooked teeth? 6.49. Should I wrap it up, or will you put it on there?