fade
It’s black. Rain (or sleet) is pattering against the cold glass of my window. It’s late. The second of February. I haven’t been happy for almost two years. It’s erasing me. I don’t know what I’m doing. It is like I am a machine: I perform pre-set actions for a specified amount of time. Then stop, for another specified amount of time. Then I repeat the sequence. I know what happened. I don’t know what happened. It’s raining, outside. Or maybe it’s sleet.