She woke up with the first sign of morning, just to hear the
sound of a car driving off, leaving the driveway. The empty
side of the bed was full of the bad news awaiting just for
her eyes to be cleansed from last night's leftovers.

It seemed as if no one had visited in days, but just last
night - the night which was about to be considered past -
someone had redeemed her from the ongoing loneliness she
suffered from for such a long time.

The feeling of undying coldness, though, didn't bother
August too much, as she was already used to it. She knew
exactly what had happened, simply because it wasn't the
first time. The warmth inside her body had left her long
ago, together with her first love. Why did it have to happen
to her all the time? She didn't even bother with silly
questions of this sort.

She got up, put a pot of hot water to boil for her regular
morning coffee (of which she could quit anytime) and lit up
a cigarette. It was a bit early for smoking, but she had no
one to answer to anyway. A long time ago she only craved for
that someone to drink the morning coffee with, someone to
smoke a morning cigarette with, someone to have eccentric
morning conversations with. But that hope died a few cups of
coffee ago, a few cigarettes ago, a few dry monologues ago.

She spotted a little yellow note on the fridge, but didn't
bother to look at it, as she already knew what it said. She
wanted to spare herself the pain she wouldn't have felt
anyway because of her lack of hopes and dreams.

She put on her dark green sweater she loved so much, he had
given it to her when he left. No words of goodbye - just a
sweater, and the all too familiar note. She looked at
herself in the mirror, thinking. Her pale white skin made
her look lifeless. She was too skinny for what the rest of
the world considered normal, but then again - who cared
about them?

Did they ever care about her?