by Lunna Raven
In the first few days I realized that it wasn’t being away from my family, the different country, or the studio, it was him that was impossible to live with. The man I met and fell in love with didn’t exist anymore, and the horror of that idea petrified me.
I kept looking for something familiar in him, but I couldn’t find it, except maybe for the tattoos. Everything was off, even his eyes were a different shade of blue, looking into them was like hitting a wall.
He wrote words on the walls, repetitive, incomplete ideas. The drawings and words on the door were disturbing and gradually new things were added. The night I left, I found out he had drawn and written on it huge new things in red. I’ve wondered if he imagined that to be my blood for having left him.