Every feeling I write and accurately shows you and serves to convince you that I feel what I write. Every emotion I describe to you serves to convince you that I feel when you recognize yourself by feeling. I make a mirror with my words for you to see yourself and us like one. I fool you, and very well. When you reach my word, I will have died a thousand times before. When you understand my battle I will have lost another thousand before. I give you what is left of my past, since what I offer you is that which is no longer, but which satisfies you because they are words: fragile substitutes of truths. I bring you ready, trimmed text, with the proper asepsis of my follies and selfishness. I bring you refined product, with a certain dignity, far from the raw material that at first struck me. I present suffering for the filter of the intellect: another thing, made up, ready for a party and literary blessings. What you see and you do not see: I am double, I am the excess, I am the absurd. By becoming a word I am already a tame woman, a feeling, a dream, tamed by language of what captures me from life…