"Entering her room, number 214 and her story founds its beginning in my head, she’s breathing in her death-bed. Exitus letalis, all I can see is a hematoma-skin. Your whispered words, too weak to form a question, anyway I can’t answer, I only know your name, your date of birth and that is all. I hear you repeating: „Am I dreaming, is this a dream, tell me, am I dreaming or is this real?” And I wish I would only be an imaginary person in your head. Maybe oxycodone will carry away your pain but it won’t numb your heart, it won’t heal your mind. I wanna promise ending nightmares, but I am voiceless. I wanna promise ending nightmares, but I am powerless."