I saw that it was more and more silent

That night she told me that she was a white blood patient, hoping to leave the world before the beautiful things can be painted down, so to the other side will not feel lonely, will not forget the side of the world. Although the words reveals helpless, but soon she was enjoying the look of annihilation. I stroked her hair, touching every inch of her thin body, thinking about how this might have burst out of the body. Wake up in the morning, I told her to teach me to paint.

Since then every day after work I will go to her, she said the most important thing is to paint the emotions buried in the painting, so that a painting was a person angry, is a living picture. Night, I hugged her tightly, hope that the power can penetrate her skin points to me.

Slowly, I saw that it was more and more silent since it was hidden in the darkness of the hormones, the shallowness of myself, and the true inner heart of a little beneath a hypocritical face. In the months before she left, I quit my job and spent the day with her until her body was cold and pushed into the morgue.

I picked up her drawing board and started walking on the road. From then on I had a dream: to draw all the good things to her, so that we would be happy at the same time. She will not forget me, I will not forget her.

He did the last glass of wine.
Thank you for your wine, thank you for listening, goodbye.
I looked at him back to the back, lonely myself, at least still their own.
I opened the bag, picked up the pen and this, record the story of this man.

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