- You’re back?
- I was never gone.
- Didn’t you live here a month ago right?
- Right.
- So you’re back.
- Yes, but I didn’t want to. This city is like a magnet to me and I can’t run away. I didn’t want to return, but in the end, I’m here. Back here. As every month, weekend, holiday, wedding or funeral. It won’t let me go.
- Who, the city?
- Yes, the city. I tried, believe me. I didn’t want to go back.
- Then go, leave again! What is stopping you?
- In spite of myself, this is the only place that ever wanted me. I tried with all my strength but nothing, all the signals tell me to stop. Here. Now.
- The smoke signals?
- Don’t mess with me. I searched for four new flats. All busy. I sent dozens of curriculum. No reply. Nothingness.
- It’s his fault?
- Not at least not entirely. He threw, hurt, humiliated, trampled me . In one shot he managed to make me feel fragile, alone, abandoned. A woman not to be proud of. But…
- But you’re not alone. You are here.
- Yes, for the umpteenth time I’m here. Again.
- This is the woman that you should not be proud of, one that is self-pity. You have chosen to return home. You told me this, that night on the phone. A sharp text message: “I want to come home.”
- It was the first thing I thought after all that mess.
- It means that wasn’t your home.
- I just wanted to come back to my affections, my dogs, you, myself.
- You wanted to come back to me?
- Also.
- And now you’re here, what can I do for you?
- Do not make me leave again.
Graphic Design: Silvia Blazina
