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demoralizing, and you never get used to it.

Angrily I grab the usual clasp, discolored from all the times I have used it, and imprison my hair, and with the bite of those plastic teeth I wound my heart, my soul, my pride, my self-love.

And he doesn't even understand my angry gesture.

He gives me a quick glance, as if he can’t really bring the whole situation into focus, and as always I drown in this incomprehension, and suffocate tears that want to be freed, swallowing the bitterness and that lump in my throat that does not want to go down.

Tomorrow it will change, or rather, I hope that I will change tomorrow.

***

"This haircut really suits you, Mysia!"

Pietro’s voice spoke those words, boiling oil to my

ears.

I felt my cheeks and neck flush and instinctively lowered my gaze, not knowing exactly how to reply.

I wasn't used to receiving compliments, it had been so long that... I had wanted to hear those words from my husband's mouth, I had longed for this to happen in too many dreams, and instead here is that man who did not belong to me making my skin ripple with a shiver, making the longing for pleasure that hides inside every human being come true.