She found it difficult to let go , to tell herself that the story of her life, which has come to resemble an absurdist play , has not been written by Samuel Beckett or Eugene Ionesco but by the three sisters whose seductions she could not resist. She limped around the city with the sharp numbness of a child scared of nightmares , fooling herself into believing that she could actually walk out on " Time" , give him the middle finger and tell him that he has been spoiled rotten by obsessional neurotics and poets. She continuously tried to delude herself in to believing that the gods have already sent her the map of this city and she could get herself out of its cold rotting clutch whenever she wanted to, ignoring the fact that the city inhabited by thousands of men and women with dead -fish eyes was a labyrinth that she had been building around herself from a very early age.
And her friend could do nothing but watch . He kept dreaming of her every night and in his sleep kept telling her to come back . He would wake up every morning with the taste of her stale coffee in his mouth and the salt of her dried tears on his cheeks . He knew that he was living inside her on another world feeling her loneliness through the pores of his skin.
