Clara
Some memories come like photographs, others... They come like wounds.
They don't appear complete, they have no beginning or end. They are merely fragments that my mind suddenly throws out, without asking permission, as if someone were tossing puzzle pieces onto a table and expecting me to figure out where they fit.
During the day I can control it a little; I work, I read... I talk to Ethan, I try to occupy my mind.
But the nights... The nights are another story, because when I close my eyes... Everything comes back.
I don't know what time it was, I only know that I woke up startled, my breathing was too rapid.
My chest felt so tight that for a moment I thought I wasn't in my room.
I opened my eyes, darkness, the ceiling, our room, our bed.
Then I breathed heavily, again... A
