Yesterday I ate chocolate cake, one that X and I made. We had whipped cream and mineral water with it. I don't know what happened next, other than my stomach caving in; I couldn't even reach the foetal position as it hurt so much. I just ended up cramping, wanting to puke my guts out but didn't.

This night, I woke up at 03:20, feeling quite healthy but couldn't sleep. I got up, sat around checking for games for my new gizmo. The pain returned, travelled from my stomach like a NASA rocket, scorching my lungs as it passed and then went out of gas, falling dead in my oesophagus. A three-step rocket that sourly sipped through my insides as its different parts fell out. Oaah. I necked a popular, prescription-free pain-killer that usually works as a nice placebo for me and hoped for the best.

After 45 minutes I went to bed again, in search of quick sleep, reminded of a line from a character in Jonas Gardell's book "Ett UFO gör entré": "Come, Death, the Liberator". Strangely, the pain then subsided in a matter of minutes.

The bedroom was dark and I did my best at ninja-ing myself into bed, trying not to hurt or wake X as she lay gently sleeping. Once laying, I saw the contours of her calm face as she breathed heavily, her frame outlined by a thin, old quilt. My breathing calmed down. My heart filled up. I pet her newly coloured hair gently, causing her to sigh softly. This is the last image I recall before falling into the welcoming darkness.