It's been 12:00 in the morning and you haven't slept. Your ruby-eyed, which has filled with naivety and lovely. Now it looks so tiring, full of sorrow. You grab a phone, you fall down on the bed. You're reading your old message and him, just glide. Sometimes giggling, sometimes crying. It's fun, but it's sad. Sometimes warm together, sometimes rough fights. To the end of the message, the last time you two chatting together was three weeks ago, but it wasn't even a happy conversation, it was a fight. Hands stop glancing, eyes stop. Sad but not to cry, the water was shallow, and the eyes were swollen. This is a cold war, crying doesn't change anything, it'll even make you tired. What are you doing? It's too late now. Sleep soon. Your hands are unconscious when you see him onl. Knowing he might not answer, but some part of you lit a hope. For as long as your message he finally saw, but he didn't answer. It was like beating a death blow to her, but nothing said, simply turned off the phone and closed her eyes. Before you go to sleep, you tell him. Good night. I never loved her, I don't know how to describe it. I've fourteen pies and I don't get a piece of my role, I've said I watch movies too much: 'Fuck
