I am tired.

Not of this or that,

Not even of everything or anything:

Tiredness itself,

Tiredness. [...]

Álvaro de Campos

Oh, she absolutely loved that poem!

- You're very quiet.

Raúl said.

- Yes. I'm not very good company today, Raúl. I'll go after I've finished my coffee.

- Why?

- I just said why, didn't you hear?

- I heard you perfectly. But are we only supposed to be together when everything's fine?

Flavia stared at him. For seconds, which seemed like an eternity to Raúl.

She looked away and didn't comment.

-If you don't have an answer, I'll assume you don't.

-I want to be alone. I don't like feeling like this, accompanied. I don't want to talk. It's my way.

- OK. We can watch a film and no one will talk. What do you say?

- What don't you understand? I want to be alone! Can I? We don't have to see each other whenever you feel like it, do we?

Raúl remained silent, watching.

- I'm sorry. I'm leaving.

Flavia got up and left. It was cold and raining. Flavia didn't open her umbrella or run. She got in her car and drove off.

She came home wet. She slammed the door, sat down and cried.

Her psychologist had told her outright that her problem was with her relationships. Her insecurity was most keenly felt there. She was tired of being analysed without any guidance on how to change her 'abnormalities'.

She was undoubtedly closed off in relationships that might have suggested more intimacy, although the psychologist had referred to her relationships with others in general. Raúl was right. When she was drunk, she revealed herself. But what interest could a woman like that possibly have?

She was tired of herself and always tried to be as intellectually busy as possible to free herself from her self-pity.

Raúl's arrival made her feel exposed and forced her to confront her own reality.