Sick again, I cut myself in two. One goes out for food, medicine, whatever. The other lies in bed with a temperature staring at the walls or reading. One of me comes back, struggling, an arctic explorer laid down with bags, desperate for shelter before the darkness falls. One of me is waiting to hear the other's footsteps, his key in the door and gets up for ten minutes, feeling healthier when he arrives. One, in a burst of energy, rushes about, puts the room in order, singing to himself, turns the pillows over. One leans against the doorpost, feeling fainter, and catches a glimpse, in the bathroom mirror, of his own two faces, pale and merged together.