Aside from a wooden table and two chairs, the room is completely empty. The walls are bare. I have seen no one in the whole time I have spent in this solitary room. I have almost no friends. I have almost no acquaintances. I have had four months to get used to this empty room, to sink into it everything I had, what I wanted, what I would lose, which is why I am writing this letter.
I know you will read this letter nonetheless, without a shred of sympathy or curiosity. For me, it is simply an attempt to adapt.