Forgettable

I rinsed my face, when my fingers slide down my nose, something broke, then my left palm was painted red. “Damn, again!” I thought. I didn't pressed my nose to grab tissues, I simply stood there, I lowered my head. Red drops splashed in the sink from my broken faucet. “One, two, three, four...” I wonder how long it would take for my platelets to stop the leak, so I started to count, in silence. Maybe they won't come, I was prepared for it. “Twenty-six.” it stopped.  My blood said I love you to me.

Few days after that day's lunch, the question still has not seen its reply.  Silence means YES.

The first day without me, the heating is finally on, together with my biological cycle. Should I stressed the warmth at night, or the weary body? None of them. I should learn to feel numb — a lesson one billion times harder than mathematics.  Another full moon night, I want to go there, to tell you the golden leaves, the chilly air, that our favourite season is closer and closer, that the forecast says tomorrow sleet shows up to the world. However the two passwords escaped my brain again. I'm ostracized. Then I realised, being mad can be so deafeningly silent. 

I'm so sorry, but, as a perpetual lone-star, I solely love everything bigger.

“I want to say hi.” “Just say it, it is right, firmly.”