My memories are sharp and limpid. My conscience is closer to a vivid dream than reality. Sometimes, a white curtain of frost seems to float in the room. Most days, I avoid going out of my home. It is my whole universe held between those walls. The ambiance is the one of souvenirs, recollection of events, good and bad luck, it is a tribute to my past experiences. Therefore, I would consider the flat my own private paradise.  

Chapter Two 

What we created here, this bubble, helped me get over a lot. The sick, exhausting, lowlife part of this illness can be bad. Nightmares are the worse. Along with a crazy impression. Where I believed in a supernatural force, replacing the people around me with counterfeit.