I end up seeking the companion of my computer. It is one of those nights when all sheep have been counted, twice. A foul stench of misery in the air suggests the excruciating torment’s plan to linger on for a longer while.
The later it grows, the more anguish it becomes. The droopier my eyes are, the clearer I see. Finally I get your point of view. You did not mean to tell me lies on purpose. You made up those stories in order not to hurt me. Well, your good intention backfired. I rather you tell me straight in the face. I will deal with it. Whereas this prolonged silence is eating me bit by bit, hammering a slow death. The sheep are running out. Can’t the dawn arrive sooner?
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