Sometimes I can't remember his face, nor his voice. I wonder whether he's grown up, what he's like. It occurred to me when I went over to Apollonia's the other day, when I saw her sons. It's crazy how much they've grown in a year. I thought of Paul and how much he must have changed, too. A year and a half without him. Two Christmases, one of his birthdays, one Mother's Day, two of my birthdays. And all of the days in between. It's winter now, and since summer, since the ruling that said I'd be able to see him via the association, I haven't seen him at all, not even in a photo, I haven't heard his voice, not even on the phone. This is my second winter without him. What is this insane world I'm living in? This world where love is transformed into silence even without death? This world where things just cease to exist? This world where people tell me I'm the one who's insane when I point out the insanity? The proceedings are dragging out. The expert psychiatrist still hasn't filed his report, the association still doesn't have any spots free, Laurent still isn't answering me whenever I ask if I can see Paul for an hour in a cafe, at the cinema, at a friend's house. It wouldn't be so bad if I at least had something to hold on to. It's the not knowing that's unbearable, it's the time passing with no cutoff point, it's the lawyers, the judges, the experts, the association, it's the nausea, the fatigue. It's gotten to the point where I don't even know what I'm saying anymore, what I'm feeling, what I think, I don't even know who he is anymore, whether he still exists or whether he's just a string of sentences in my brain, something I've made up. This must be what madness is like.

It was cold that winter, I had no money, and I was sleeping with girls I didn't even like. By the time spring came around, I wanted to get away. I shoved my two pairs of jeans in a bag, left the keys to the 100ft2 apartment at the cafe downstairs, sent an email to the owner. Turns out I didn't really need an apartment.

II

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