We were in his room in a hot steamy day. The city’s sound was left outside on the other side of the bedroom’s door. His curtains had always been closed,  now opened,  letting some naughty late sunlight streamed down on the wooden floor lazily. I stared at the sky over the window’s glass,  squeeze the thick curtains in my hand,  slowly relplied to his uncurious questions. I looked at the man standing right in front of me,  the space from where I stood to the place where he was wandering around made me think of how far in distance we actually were. My feeling of home slightly fled away and only an unknown empty feeling that stayed. My faith in human relationship was somehow destroyed in a dramatic sense,  or in any other senses,  if there is more than one nuance of it.

We, us, our, together. All the words that show how much united things can be,  that might burn your heart a just a little too much when you hear it from the right person. With him,  it’s different. Something that is built to be ruined,  that is started,  to be ended. I have never seen a future with him,  and It will never change. All the time we spend together,  a year that full of stars gazing and home being has never meant to last. I put an end to the undone chapter of the story without an epilogue,  but my heart still race. I sometimes hear his voice in my dream,  see the loving eyes and the sarcastic smile on those thin lips. I dream of being loved,  of a harmonious feeling we can never have, of his full name I can never spell.
That’s it,  pretty much sums up the story of me and the mosquito that sucks my blood. A story that never ends….


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