At home the sea is warm. Seagulls perch on the jetties. Roses grow along the wall. Now what? Find another? When everything is about him. When he is the only man in the world. Forget him. Kiss another. She tries to move on. She doesn’t say no to anything that might ease her pain, distract her. She drinks. She gets drunk. She kisses other men. She sleeps with other men. Afterwards she feels remorse and shame, she trembles in the grey dawn from fresh, unbearable pain. An earthquake is rumbling. She is caught up in an avalanche. It is happening now: the destruction of the old. She isn’t doing anything, it just happens. She is a mute, somnambulant part of it. She is free from her external past, but she has yet to step into her present, she has no idea about the future and every kind of emotion whirls around this space.