In my room,

I offer biscuits and chocolate,

No more.

If it were not for the willow tree,

which solemnly stands equally distanced from the street

and the road

to my room,

I would have thought I was in a dream,

that I have for my room,

to not offer biscuits and chocolate.

My body shivers and,

If it were not for the willow tree,

and its branches caressing my dry skin,

red of the January’s cold,

I would have thought that my body shivers because of the alcohol abandoning me.

In my room,

I accept no indifference,

No more.

In my room,

I offer no possibilities to go to your room,

No more.

In my room,

I fear abandonment.

I feel tired and,

If it were not for the willow tree and its branches and the wind,

I would have thought it was a dream and

when I wake up,

in my room,

it would all be over.

Little did I know that in my room,

It all started,

And never ended.

Because I offer biscuits and chocolate.

I sleep and wake up,

only to realise that I am still in my room,

And to leave it,

I must understand that my room is it,

Because of me.