A borderline tumor, an entity caught between the certainly benign and frankly malignant. Death had left her some discreet marks, enough to grow wild flowers on the incision. She was under the impression that she no longer existed, that her body was stubbornly holding on to her, like a mother that couldn't let go of her dead child. Actually, she was the eye of the perfect storm, the perfect match between fall and flight, between death and life, a tree that learns to rise. That piece of paper had shown she hated herself enough to start by loving herself.
(Translated by Iulia-Teodora Urea / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficţiuni Reale.