-Do You know why I work? 
-Because You need money?
-No, not at all. 

I work in order not to think. Not to let myself to think of all the possible ways someone could make me disappointed. Now it is 0:05 and I have been working for more than 10 hours already. I am working because I am sad. There I can run. I feel needed, I feel that someone is going to miss me if I am not going to do the work that I have to do. What's more... It is easier than... Than... Anything else.

If I am not working I am thinking. A lot. About the things. And about the people. I am thinking a lot and it scares me. It scares me to think of all these things. I'd rather just work. Keep myself busy.

It is better like that.

It is already a night time.

The moon is tearing apart, sinking into darkness, getting heavy and cold. Stars are pulsing with this timid light and one can not know if it is already time to cry out all those sorrows and pain. Sky is turning into immense dark ocean with sun goodnight-kissed waves. Everyone is sleeping, but one still can not know if it is already the right time. The eyes are looking up and the ocean pours all its salty water to them. Too much of it. One can not hold that much of the ocean and the water starts to burst onto those cheeks, cleaning the soul and burning an entire face. It hurts. It hurts a lot. Madly. Insanely. But one still can not know if it is already the time. The right time.

'I am not beautiful.'-she told.

'What are You saying? How You dare to say  these words? Never again repeat that! You are the most beautiful in the entire world!'-I said.

I thought, honestly, I thought that the people at this age do not really think of those things. Do not think only skin-deep. 

'Do You think she is beautiful?'-I have asked.

'What? Of course she is! I have chosen the most beautiful!'- he answered and looked to her side.

I looked at her, looked at him and unconsciously felt tears accumulating in my eyes, rolling down my cheeks. 

Of course she is. He had chosen the most beautiful one. 

No. He did not love her. Oh no, she did not love him. Everything is simple. Simple as that.
But none of them have ever told that to each other. Until yesterday when he told her: 'you know, the problem is that I do not love you'. 'Do not love you, do not love, you, you, you'- just like an echo crossed her ears. He does not love her. He did not love her.

Everything should have been easy. Easier. Somehow. Now she sits on the couch and tears are rolling through her cheeks. They are burning them. It has been months since she cried. It somehow feels different.
Oh no, she did not love him.
But...
But somehow she got used to be with him. She got used to be surrounded by this calmness. By his calmness. She got used to and this is why it hurts now. It hurts. A little bit too much. It burns. A little bit too damn much.

Even though she smiles, because of her smile the heart is tearing apart. Is splitting in two. Is cracking, bleeding and hurts. So much. Because of this smile it is cold. Like during the winter: without shoes and scarf. It is freezing and she has no idea where she should go, because whenever she goes, she can feel it.