Waiting for W. to come home. It's late, and I'm very sad. The bedroom is lit up, with white walls, either plaster or painted cement. Looks like a prison. She should be back already, but she's out having fun. Finally she comes home. I can hear her in the bathroom, and then in the other bedroom. That's where she'll be staying, and that makes me sad as well.

W. and I in our house, different from the prison place, and from anywhere we've lived. She's upset at me, and packing up all her stuff to move out. My parents and granny are there. I walk through some French doors to where they all are. W.'s saying bad things about me.

I'm on the phone. Maybe she is. She's talking to her sister, asking about getting tickets to a concert that's coming up. Some solo artist that isn't, like Bono or something. I have tickets already, but she obviously doesn't want to go with me.

Then I'm talking to her, right in her face, and she's disgusted because my breath is so foul.

Pure sorrow.