Those 35 days went by so blankly, I couldn't tell if I was living and feeling or if someone else was doing it for me.

What have all these days been to me?

Empty days flowed into repetition.

Where are you?

Why the fuck did you get lost like that?

Oh, stop my blow... calm down please... it will pass, be patient my heart.

He asked me to feel. Why did he ask me to feel? I was honest with him. I only told him the truth. Why did he tell me words he didn't mean?

He told you what you wanted to hear. And you, you made the mistake of putting them in the heart.

I fucking know it! What experience am I fucking bragging about? Look what's happening now ... again the same choking in the throat, again the same damn tears. The same pain again...

I was fine. Protected from passions; from meaningless heartbeats of love. I wasn't in pain about that.

But you were missing the words he said.

And now that I heard them, what did I understand?

So that's who you are, Cupid? You scatter gold dust and joy in the heart and then you leave. You take dreams with you and leave debris behind.

When a dream lasts so little, then it is not worth living it. It only manages to leave strong thoughts, meanings of emotions, and reality has no room to accommodate them.

I don't want such a dream!

It's incredible how only a few moments can absorb so much time from our lives.

I feel it again... here it is again... I close my eyes at the thought of him. I try to calm down and the blow wakes me up with violence to continue to ache for the loss.

I pray. I pray all the time that God may take the temptation. I was wrong God... don't leave me. It all revolves around the one I love. Hear, Oh God, my prayer that comes straight from the bottom of my heart...

I don't feel the separation from him and that hurts. Even if there is a breakup, I know the future will keep the heart strong to reunite our paths.

But who am I fooling about? But what shall I say to my wound to calm it?

You didn't get along with yourself, so you let him do what he did to you. The problem was you and not him. It's not worth a soul's emptying for a love like this.

We were good, we were having fun...

For the sex. That's where you were too good for him. But nothing more. Take it and move on.

To move on... how easy that sounds. How easily I lost control, my God!

There's a fucking truth! When a man fucks a woman, he doesn't just fuck her body. He fucks her soul, too. Bodies are close, but souls are frighteningly far away.

Then they tell you not to give up on love. I say, how many pieces a heart must be made to not give up love?

I'm homesick for what I was like before Dorian. I was fine. Yeah, I was fine. I listened to broken hearts and unfulfilled love, and I had the look of a wise orator giving the same advice that my inner voice now gives me.

It doesn't suit me to be in pain. I had beaten all that, and I was happy. I had my job, my goals, and my interests. After Ross, I locked everything up. I raised invisible walls and drove away anyone who came my way. And now I realize I've escaped a lot of traps.

But Dorian just told me what I wanted to hear. The ones I had locked my heart for not going in and hurting with their fake content. A content that would again become the heart a showcase of the alleged emotion.

But history repeats itself. In love, you're always a rookie.

I fell asleep on the couch for a while and I'm grateful for that. Only in sleep, I do find peace.

The doorbell rouses me abruptly, and I curse myself. I'm looking at the time on my phone. 22: 45. Who can be in the evening?

Could it be Dorian?

Hope suddenly springs up, but the cold reality is again negative.

"Ross, what are you doing here?" I ask drowsily. I'm a wreck psychologically and that's what it looks like.

"Reva, good evening. Er, sorry for the inappropriate time, may I come in?" he says to me with pursed lips, as if to pity me.

He what? He feels sorry for me? That's all I need right now, my ex feeling sorry about me.

My ego, wake up, I need you right now. I may not be ready to face Dorian, but I can face Ross.

I open the door more and let him in. I'm not in the habit of keeping in touch with exes. I believe that there is not what they call 'friendship' after a breakup.

When you've made love to this man, you've shared your bed, every secret part of your body, how is it possible for all of this suddenly to become a friendship?

When Love gets in the way, friendship is over.

I pour Ross some coffee, and we sit in the living room, facing each other. It's a little awkward, at least for me.

"You look great," Ross says, smiling.

Now he got it! Dorian ripped my heart out and took it with him. I left too. But I can't get away from what I feel.

"I'm all right. How come you're here?" I say typically.

He tightens his lips awkwardly and drinks some coffee. We're both lighting a cigarette.

"I've had a miserable mess," Ross says, and he seems more ready to begin a confession than simply telling his news.

"I've had a nasty mess," Ross says, and he seems more ready to begin a confession than simply telling his news.

"These things happen. But what do you mean? Has something happened with your job?" I ask, and I'm already beginning to understand what he's trying to say. I'm just pretending to be ignorant.

"No, business is going well. Not great, but good. I've had other trouble," he continues thoughtfully. "It's a girl. You might know her," he says, narrowing his eyes.

Oh, good! I'm not the only one who's hurt. When you are disappointed in love, you get the impression that everyone around you is happy and you are the dumb one, the only one, the unhappy one. And when you hear another heartbreak, you're secretly happy about it. Not for the other's pain, but because you find that you are not the only one disappointed.

Looks like selfishness, doesn't it?

Maybe a little evil.

"I don't know what girl you're talking about, Ross. But it doesn't matter. Tell me what your point is," I tell him.

Being here with him, all the memories come to my mind. Everything I lived with him for three years come to life in my mind.

"When we parted, after some time, I met a girl. At first, we had fun. The sex was good with her. On the whole, it was good. But at some point, one night when I was at her house waiting for her to get off work, she didn't come back. She works in a bar. At first, I thought something had happened to her. So I left the house and decided to go to the bar where she works. No need to ask for her, another waiter solved my question very quickly. She was fucking another guy," Ross says and lowers his head in dismay.

Now, why do I have to know all this? How much does it concern me anyway?

There it is again... my knife, Dorian. You're hurting me, Dorian... no matter where I am, no matter what I do, no matter who I talk to, you're here somewhere invisibly, and you love me. And I embrace that love, and I like it so fucking much.

There's beauty in that feeling. It's because it looks like love. It's a beauty that hurts. Fuck, it hurts so fucking beautifully nicely...

I swallow dryly and decide to say something to Ross, taking a breath that carries into words Dorian's stab.

Until when? Patience.

"Ross, these things happen, we said so. From now on, be more careful with people," I say.

"But what we lived together then, was love, wasn't it? Admit it," he surprises me with a faint smile.

"Yes, of course, it was love," I lie to him.

It wasn't Love. If it was love, we wouldn't have broken up. But what does it matter now to pry into it? It's over anyway.

"Do you remember that night we got drunk?" he asks me thoughtfully.

I'm starting to remember.