She got used to this creaky bed, to these old and torn curtains, even to the leaky ceiling
I can get used to anything, she thought
After all it was not easy, what she did
or maybe it was
It has been so long that she has forgotten
She got used to eating alone, sleeping alone, being alone but was it true?
Could she really get used to anything?
She remembered that article she once read in a French magazine;
“Le mariage; le fin de l’amour!” Marriage, the end of love, it was saying
If getting used to love means the end of love,
getting used to life meant death!
Was she dead?
No, I am not! she thought
She was not sure though
How could she be?
Everything looked the same, sounded the same, tasted the same, smelled the same…
Maybe she was dead for so long that she got used to it!
