"In Which Reality is a List of Reasons to Stay F*cking Single "

(Pt. 2)

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(Still) Encontrarse

5:48 PM

She even goes on to proudly present the alleged 'list', which was a paper napkin consisting of a bunch of names neatly and legibly written down in a formal cursive script — that was unmistakably so Tia — on its textured deep Prussian blue surface.

"Ooh," Tamieke marvels at the paper, wriggling his fingers in excitement.

Kiana cheerfully claps. "We have managed to scrape up at least five people we know that you have famously dated and/or slept with for the past two years. Chances are, you've probably been in love with one of them" — she drops her smile when she sees the expression on my face.

She shows the list to me. "Or, at least, have been close enough to let them in your dark itty-bitty heart and your lady parts. We just need you to write what you've liked about them, and what you've felt being with them."

"And these are my choices?" I ask, briefly navigating down the singular column filled with the names of the transient characters from my not-so-distant past, inked in pretty cursive letters.

All right, 'pretty' was a complete understatement. 

Seriously?! Is this even supposed to be a list of my failed attempts in dating, or a modern piece of calligraphic art on a table napkin?

Who the fuck casually carries around a white-inked pen?

She didn't even break a sweat writing this — which goes to show how sucky my handwriting is.

"Huh," I skim the paper the second time around, skipping over some familiar names before my eyes land on the random numbers beside them — wait, random numbers?!

I gape at the scheming duo. "You scored them?!"

Tia clicks her tongue. "Scoring sounds puerile when you say it. Those are a reliable quantifying average of their personality, charisma, uniqueness, hotness, and — most importantly — their overall compatibility with you."

"Also known as how long they lasted with you!" Emile adds in.

One of my eyes narrows. "So, you did score them."

And who says only the SATs* can take all a person's outstanding qualities and reduce them into a single number?

I could feel Tamieke's breath tickle the back of my neck, the unquestionable stench of garlic and pesto drifting to my nose as he tries to peek at the list over my shoulder.

"That's right," Tia slips the list away from my hand and tucks it under her arm before I can process each name as if I was going to tear it into bits and pieces of confetti if she didn't.

I'm not saying she is paranoid... I guess that's it.

"But" — I lick my lips — "how do I even know if I were in love with one of 'em. How would you" — I cross my arms, meeting her dark gaze with a challenging one of my own — "even know you're in love in the first place?"

Kiana takes it from there to answer for her. "Your heart palpitates without having a single cup of coffee."

I raise a brow. "Huh."

Tamieke nods, quietly taking his seat beside her. "You can't eat, you can't sleep."

"Your thoughts revolve around that person," Tia contributes, her eyes staring into the distance – for extra effects.

"You turn red at every single thing they do, and you're fascinated with whatever they're doing," Kiana bubbly says, elbow propped on the table and her palm cradling her cheek.

"He has a huge penis," Emile contemplates thoughtfully across her, even going as far as to mimic her pose.

Jhett joins him. "He makes you scream multiple orgasms."

"Like with a really hu-u-u-uge penis," Emile describes, impassioned in using his hands for emphasis.

Kiana quickly diverts the subject to a much lighter note, flapping her hand. "You feel more comfortable around him."

"Because he has a dick you can bounce on for fun," Jhett persists animatedly like an infomercial actor.

Tia purses her lips, her bold brows quirked close enough to reach her forehead and her expression in careful deliberation. "He makes you question every single decision you ever made."

Emile purrs, vibrating a cat-like sound while playfully clawing the air with a spot-on Mae West* impression. "Whether you can put it all in there." 

Tia subdues him with a frosty look. "We get it, you're in love with every man who has a large tonk."*

"Tsk," Jhett clicks his tongue to the top of his mouth with a know-it-all expression. "Not all the time. He doesn't need to have a big dick alone. Technique and execution count, as well."

Kiana thrusts her hands out and waves an imaginary eraser meant to wipe away a scandalous thought. "The point is"—

"You'd want to bone that cat all the time!" Emile quickly butts in, still in his Mae West persona, nodding his head to some crazy visualization of a faceless man's dick in his head, his voice shaking in — what he believes — an orgasm should sound like.

"Ignore him," Joule says to Keke and me, muffling what else Emile wanted to say with his hand.

"Your heart feels like it's been struck by an arrow, and you suddenly can't breathe. The heavens suddenly open up, and a choir of angels sing a cheesy love song in the background," Tamieke raises both his hands, palms facing upwards as he stares at an unaware Sly. 

Kiana cuddles up next to Tia who welcomes her with an embrace. "You don't have to act like you're so happily and helplessly in love in front of other people just to prove you're together. You just are."

The more I listened to their fanciful and idealized version of love, the more my expression turned bleak.

At first, having them scramble for an answer like lovestruck fools was kinda fun. But now, my patience is wearing thin and my head is throbbing.

Seriously, I've had enough of this. I let out an inaudible groan, the very air felt like my soul slowly disappearing into the air.

Twitching my chin, I pretend to think over their claims. "Okay, so let me get this straight. If I'm in love, I get to experience all of those things?"

"Yes!" They say together, relieved that I finally got it.

Kiana raises her shoulders slightly. "More or less."

"So"— I cup my chin in between my forefinger and thumb — "best-case scenario, I should watch out if I'm exhibiting mild cases of a heart attack" — I begin to count with my fingers — "insomnia, anorexia, dementia and nymphomania, because it's love and not a valid medical emergency?" 

Tamieke face-palms himself. "Now you're twisting it around and making it sound so cold and unromantic."

My jaw drops in mock-horror. "You find yourself losing sleep or a possible STD infection, romantic?" 

Tia whips out her arms, covering the others from my line of sight. "Ignore what those slags have said."

"So, it's just heart attacks"—

Tia exhales a short heavy breath, stifling the gradual cracks threatening to shatter her patience. "Simply put, it's a fluttering in your stomach."

I lean closer, hand smacked down on the table for support. "You mean, 'indige-stion!'"—

"Here you go ladies"— a plastic tray brushes past behind me. 

I yelp in surprise at the sticky ice-cold feeling of a soda spilling on my back. The next thing I knew, my soles got caught in the slight lift on the flooring, and now my boobs are slumped against Emile's face like I'm about to give him the motorboat* of his dreams.

I tried to grab on to anything to right myself with, but Miss Quick to Overreact was frantically hitting my chest, his ticklish screams muffled by my boobs.

Meanwhile, the rest of the table was simply gawking at us in our struggle, their faces a mixture of 3 parts horror and 1 part comedy.

Tamieke cackles, snapping his fingers in the air as I finally untangle myself from a petrified Emile. "Chi-i-i-ile, when the bitch said he wanted some of your tities, this was not what he meant."

Tia, who was leisurely sipping her tea, unceremoniously spits them. Hand tightly pressed to her mouth, she joins the others in a fit of hysteria.

A pale-faced and watery-eyed Emile alternates between taking deep breaths and making loud convulsive gasps. "That was worse than seeing The Shining in a girl's bathroom."*

"Shhh" — Jhett fans his best friend's ashen face with a menu — "That's right, just breathe."

Emile takes Jhett's hand sanitizer spray and excessively spritzes his face and neck.

"Hah!" Tamieke wipes a tear from one of his eyes, his wide chest convulsing in laughter. "That look on your face" — he points at me before contorting his face into a semi-accurate imitation of Edvard Munch's The Scream — "was so perfectly busted. I. Love. It!"— he claps each word, clutching his stomach afterward — "Oh, shit, I think I'mma pop something. Please tell me that someone caught that on their phone! I need to add that one to my collection! Tea, where's the CCTV in this place?!"

He snaps his fingers some more in between long and short wheezes like a possessed person.

I turn around. It was impossible for anyone to ignore the loud high-pitched sound resonating throughout the bistro, or the rambunctious rounds of laughter that followed. 

Heat creeps into my neck and ears. I shrink back and quickly occupy Tamieke's former seat to avoid any curious eyes peering at me. Of course, just in case, I send a couple of glares around me.

"Now that we got that unfortunate slip-up out of the way," I bite out, my mouth coiled in a stiff twist on one side. "Even if I'm 'open'" — I air-quote — "to the experience, I wouldn't know where to start. Would anybody care to share their personal experience?"

This sobers them up.

Already dropping his character impression, Emile puffs up his chest with a wounded look in his eyes. "How dare you even ask? Of course."

I lean closer to him, bending over Jhett, and matching his bluff with a bone-chilling stare. "That excludes TV, movie Broadway and YouTube actors, musicians and/or celebrities, and manga and anime characters."

Emile sticks his pert nose upward. "I'll have you know, I just had the most wondrous summer fling with a mechanic named Danny* in Mali."

"Really?" I arch my brows, sprawling back on my chair, thighs open and my arm slung over the back. "'Coz it sounds a lot like 'Grease'. So, I'm guessing" — I wander my gaze around the people in our booth — "none of you were truly in love. Interesting."

Tamieke lets out a nervous laugh, slapping the top of his knee. "Ha! Good one"— he dips his head closer to Tia — "give her the list, Tea."

Tia stubbornly shakes her head, her round eyes a clear 'no'. "No, we're still not done yet."

See, what did I tell you?

"How could you even keep track of 'em?!" I ask, half-frustrated and half-awed at her meticulous adherence to the details of my near non-existent love life.

Jhett raises his arm like a contestant in Reverse-Jeopardy!* who constantly says, 'Pick me. Pick me.

Tamieke points at him to answer.

"Ooh, I know this! Watching you date is like a long-running 'Will She or Will She Not' moment on The Bachelorette."*

Tamieke hoots in agreement, giving him a high-five.

"Unlike The Bachelorette," I counter in a matter-of-factly tone, face scrunched and teeth crookedly bared. "In case you haven't noticed, each person I actually liked didn't exactly turn out the best — even with good lighting."

"S-o-o, one of them was gay," Tamieke, who just had to shed some light on the past, says nonchalantly, helping himself to some complimentary breadsticks. "Every girl has to have experienced a malfunction in their gaydar."

Emile fans his hand downward. "I know, right? I'm kinda offended he never hit on me, though."

I run my hands down my face, fingers dragging down the bags of my eyes.

"I'm not talking about Benjamin, but thanks for the reminder. It's not every day I get to see an act of basic human decency when a guy would refuse to look at a huge wet coffee stain on my rack only to catch him trying to play swords* with another guy!" I mumble against my palms.

DITCH Rule #8: If they show signs of being in the closet and only want you to cure the gay away. Break it off, but reassure them it's gonna be okay, then sashay away.

Tia juts her lip into a tiny pout, biting the inside of her cheek. "Well, most of them were utter buggers. But, there must've been a few corkers* amongst the line of fit* chaps who generally think they can chat you up and screw you over."

I tilt my head to face her with a listless stare. "Is there any other type?"

Kiana directs her head to me, face dangling close to her shoulder. "Was there really no one good enough to chip that stone cold beating organ of yours? Not even Dallas or... Willa?"

DITCH Rule #11: If they're off to another country and want to keep in touch, it doesn't equate to a pledge of fidelity.

I wrinkle my nose, not quite as fond or hyped at the meteoric speed of fragmented flashbacks happening in the outer reaches of my brain. "Dallas got signed to a record deal and expected me to wait for him while he's on a European tour with his floozies on the side. Willa became too clingy, got jealous, and was charged with assault for attacking Tia."

Tia purses her lips to one side at the memory, her round slanted cheeks more pronounced. "She was a nasty green-eyed tart, wasn't she? You may have broken her heart, but good riddance all the same."

Joule lets out a small sigh. "To be candid, she's not entirely to blame, what with your"— he gestures to Tia and me — "rather softbian* actions that would incite a reasonable amount of misunderstanding for most people."

Jhett, who eventually managed to parse Joule's string of words in a matter of 10 seconds, makes a scandalized gasp. "I know what you mean. It took me exactly five months to realize they weren't actually dating."

"Who knows"— I stretch my arms behind my head and make a show of winking at Tia —"if we did date, maybe I would have never hung out with Dallas in the first place."

Tia rolls her eyes, but the telltale signs of a coy smile say differently. "What can I say? Charity is good for the soul."

I mockingly lurch back, hand to my chest as if I was stabbed in the heart.

"Didn't Dallas write a song about you that his band performed on BBC One last year?" Kiana presses on as I right myself forward.

"Keke," I spear her a reprimanding glance, a finality in my tone. "No."

Tamieke, shaking the empty bread basket, innocently squeezes in, "What about Lyle?"

Like the crack of a whip, my head snaps towards him. Eyes betraying my mortification, my mouth moving fast. "Lyle? Like Lyle-Lyle? He's just a friend."

Joule raises his shoulders nonchalantly. "Yeah, but you like him, don't you?"

I scoff — probably a bit too hard and loud to be considered as natural. Whatever.

I clutch my stomach, mouth broadly opened, my throat releases a forced series of laughter, not one of them meeting my eyes.

I clear my throat. "No."

Tamieke looks at me, brows arched asymmetrically, a dimple appearing near one curved side of his lips. "Bitch, you lie! We've seen you look at that boy like a gay man who's been deprived of a Lady Gaga album for three years. You thirsty* A-F, and you like him. A lot," he says the last word with a low echo.

I — tried to —laugh again, the timbre of my voice gradually slipping into a more serious threat. "What?! How? Who else knows about this? And by that, I mean the people I have to kill."

Jhett paws Emile's designer-clad shoulder. "Look at her, she's not even denying it anymore. Progress!"

Tia's head pops over the table. "To answer your question, no one else outside this group."

"And, the lady who does my nails," Emile speedily adds under his breath.

Tia flares her nose at him. "Are you serious?!"

Emile stares at us, his face morphed in an ingenuous expression. "What? Nail people know everything! Also, hairdressers."

Jhett vigorously nods beside him, patting the sleek vibrant locks of his semi-quiffed hair. "Trust me, you can't even have a wash-and-rinse without a pair of earphones to tune those bitches out."

I hold my hand up in a cross. "Not the point" — though I am grateful for the sidetrack — "I've already moved on from that hopeless sail. He's a friend. I don't date friends. Period. As far as I know, he's far" — I motion with my hand — "far from being a potential attempt at a relationship."

DITCH Rule #3: You can mess around with any single and consenting adult, except your friends (and their exes). Unless you want to treat your friends as children of divorce in the middle of a custody battle where you would most likely split 'em 50-50 (let's face it, they'll play sides) because of a friends-to-lover romance gone wrong, it's not worth it. 

Tia slips on a knowing smile, waving the list in a patronizing air before handing it to me — finally! "If you say so."

Ave Michael's

List of Infamous Ditched Lovers

Compiled by : Tia Benvidez and Kiana Mori

Chase Jerricks — 7 /10

Janvier Deschamps — 7/10

Calvin Sui — 5.5/10

Dionne Carver — 6.5/10

Arthur Bailey — 7/10

Willa Bahnsen — 4/10

Benjamin Tyler — 5 /10

Dallas Reid — 8/10

Tristan Salerno — 8/10

Samuel Andersen — 7.5/10

Stephen Alexander Coldwell — 7.5/10

Aiden Richards — 8.5/10

Mystery Guitar Man — 7.5/10

I roll my eyes before they drop on a particularly odious name of pure malediction. 

I rub my eyes and look again.

"Why"— I glower at each and every co-conspirator — "is Aiden's name on the list? I didn't date him. I should know, I would've tested positive for Gonorrhea* or something."

Tia smirks. "You can't see it, but we do, babe. You've been exchanging heated looks and racy remarks each time you're together for as long as we can remember."

I grind my teeth, back hunched, and fists on the table. "I believe the phrase you're looking for is 'trading insults.'"

Kiana presses her palms together into a spire. "Either way, your weird immature flirtations and that steamy moment of 'Seven Minutes in Heaven'* at Dorian's party last year"—

"Nothing happened!" I try to protest, but she continues anyway.

"Our ship is set to sail."

I rub my hands on my arms, trying to fight a shuddering wave of repulsion. "Ew, me"— I point to myself — "and, note my total low opinion of"— I retch — "Aiden?"

"As obvious as dog balls on a shaved cat," Emile chimes in confirmation.

Kiana looks at him quizzically. "Where do you come up with these idioms?"

"Aussie Cowboy Daddy Ropes Up Bottom," Tamieke replies in a straightforward tone.

Kiana's eyes and mouth form into an adorable 'O' shape again, cheeks stained red.

I groan, hands buried inside my hair, massaging the knots on my scalp. "This isn't gonna work."

Kiana emits a thoughtful sound that makes me look up. "Why don't you imagine yourself as the heroine and write down just what you need in a romantic partner that can bring a little love into your life?"

I gawk at her, mouth hanging open.

"I'm sorry, I clearly misheard you" — I stick my pinky finger into my ear like I'm drilling through earwax — "I have to do this, why?"

SL-LURP-P! Joule drinks his juice down with a loud sloppy noise. "So that it would feel organic in establishing a solid chemistry between this 'Blaze' and this 'Stellan' character that would give your readers a reason to root for them. It can even add more emotional impact on their story arc. I learned about this from a writing channel I just subscribed to a minute ago — by the way," he shows the 'Subscribed' button on his phone screen.

Muffled sounds of agreement echo throughout the booth.

Seriously, I can't even!

Though it won't hurt to try, and I am kind of desperate! a part of me argues.

Ugh, peer pressure closing in!

I roll my eyes. "Let's say... I did this," I propose in a what-if gesture. "What do women usually go for in a guy?"

CLINK! Tia sets her teacup down its ceramic saucer. "For starters, he must be sweet, but tough. Expressive, but mysterious. Strong, but not afraid to be vulnerable. Present, but not too clingy that he continually starves for your attention. Refined, but has a roguish charm. Got it?"

I shake my head in a slow tempo, my mouth gaped. "No, but I did find out that women don't even know what they really want in a guy, Gottverdammt!*" — I throw my hands in a helpless manner — "I hate to admit it, but the men have the "w" on this round. I might even sympathize with them" — I jab my finger at my chest — "Me!" "Me!"

"Stop, right there!" Tamieke jabs a finger in front of my face.

"Oh, thank god!"— Emile chuckles in relief, dabs at the sides of his forehead — "I don't think I can hear any more of this retelling of the 'Taming of the Shrew'"*

Kiana gasps and snaps her fingers. "I think you just found the start of her character arc."

Jhett snorts. "What? A selfish cynical hag with trust issues and zero communication skills who hide from love?"

"Exactly!" Tamieke and Kiana exclaim with a synchronized nod.

Emile makes a disgusted face. "Blech, who would want that?"

"Guys!" I exclaim, calling back their attention from their front-stabbing session. "I'm right here"

"Of course you are!" Tamieke bats his lashes, his hands clasped and propping one almond cheek.

Emile and Jhett give either side of my shoulders a sympathetic pat.

Joule strokes his chin. "Face it, Rebel. What you need is an MPDB."

Tamieke, Emile, Jhett, Kiana, and I lean in. "Come again?"

Joule sighs. "An MPDB" — he gesticulates with his hand — "A manic pixie dream boy. Someone who inspires agency to a heroine to overcome the obstacles she had placed around herself. I just subscribed to this other channel. Apparently, they provide strong valid points as well."

"Chile," Tamieke says with a bemused expression. "You got all that from a video while in the middle of our conversation?"

Joule merely shrugs. "I skimmed along the comments section. I'm not an idiot who has the time in the world to watch an entire video."

Emile shakes his head. "It's times like this I keep asking myself if you're really a human or a robot."

"Hmm" — Joule props a finger on top of his mouth — "I guess a widely intelligent organic-based android is a form of compliment."

I raise my hand. "Hold up, guys. I'm trying to create a strong independent female character, and now you're telling me that she still needs a man to help her solve her shit?"

"We all need someone — man or woman. Just, give it a try," Kiana insists in a placating tone.

I jerk my nose in the air, arms crossed. "No, thank you."

"Too bad, because you're doing this anyway," Tia says differently in an imperative tone, back to sipping her tea.

"It's my book!" I remind her, whining out like a child being forced to eat a big bowl of steamed broccoli and kale 

Or, like Cinderella — which, in this context, is me — trying to reason with Lady Tremaine* — a.k.a. Tia. Only, in this scenario, Cinderella doesn't want to go to the ball and meet the prince. 

"And, there won't be any book if you get your head out of the gutter," she retorts in a severe tone, eyes flexed wide and lips narrowed into a tight line.

Her point was — in this case — valid.

Leck mich!* I wanted to stick my tongue at her.

"Besides"— she sniffs, brushing a stray lock of hair off her shoulder, her back remaining ramrod straight — "Imagine how good this would look on your transcripts."

"Fine!"— I mutter, brashly snatching my tablet from the table and my bag — "If you'll excuse me, I have work."

And then I did, like any mature adult would do after losing a lengthy argument to a group of dear friends.

I walk out.

· · ·

"She left before we could tell her the other news!" Jhett grumbles, as they watch in pity while their willful little rebel of a friend snaps a random person's head off — figuratively.

 It wasn't entirely the man's fault that their friend was in a bit of a vexatious mood. 

Tamieke shrugs, his eyes engrossed at an approaching Sly. "She'll find out — eventually."

Kiana sighs. "Poor guy."

· · ·

Classic Ave reaction lol! 

Oh, how will this cynic find the male counterpart to her heroine?

Speaking of which, what do you usually go for in a guy? Who's the guy Keke mentioned?

Write your guesses in the comment section.

See you Friday/Next Tuesday for a new chapter!

Belated Happy Easter! 

P.S. Scroll down below for a short sneak-peek of my next chapter: "In Which Reality Is a Terrible Match Made in The Garage".

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PLAYLIST

(in order)

You're My Best Friend — Queen

Boys — Charlie XCX

Summer Nights — Grease OST

Liar — Camila Cabello

He's a Demon — Betty Hutton

You're My Best Friend — Queen

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TRANSLATION/S

Gottverdammt! —  Goddamnit

Leck mich! — Bite me!

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*[F/N]*

SATs — a standardized test widely used for college admissions in the United States.

Mae West — an American stage and film actress, playwright, screenwriter, singer, and sex symbol whose entertainment career spanned over seven decades. She was known for her breezy sexual independence, and her lighthearted bawdy double entendres often delivered in a husky contralto voice.

Tonk — (UK Slang) means "penis". 

Motorboat — (US Slang)The act of placing one's head between a woman's breasts and making the sound of a motorboat with one's lips whilst moving the head from side to side.

The Shining in a girl's bathroom —  The Shining is a 1980 psychological horror film. One of its most famous scenes is the Elevator Blood Scene where the elevator doors open and a rive rof blood comes out of it. Emile, however, refers to the flood of blood found in the toilet of some girl experiencing a heavy period. 

Danny — (full name Danny Zuko) one of the main characters of the film, Grease. His character is  

Reverse-Jeopardy — Jeopardy! is an American television game show that features a quiz competition in which contestants are presented with general knowledge clues in the form of answers, and must phrase their responses in the form of questions.

The Bachelorette — an American reality series that revolves around a single bachelorette (deemed eligible) and a pool of romantic interests (typically 25; 30 in season 5), which could include a potential husband for the bachelorette.

Play Swords (with another guy) — (based on the Gay Slang, Swordfight) when two men attempt to smite each other mightily with their erect, swollen purple-headed members.

Corkers — (UK Slang) a remarkable or excellent thing or person

Fit — (UK Slang) a way of saying that a person is attractive, or sexy.

Softbian — (US Slang) When are very close, ie. they touch each other a lot when speaking and arms when walking. It's a lesbian but that does not mean that she is necessarily homosexual.

Thirsty — (US Slang) means "horny".

Gonorrhea — an infection caused by a sexually transmitted bacterium that infects both males and females.

Seven Minutes in Heaven — a kissing party game mostly played at teenage parties. Two people are selected to go into a closet or other dark enclosed space and do whatever they like for seven minutes. It is common for the participants to kiss or make out, but they may instead choose to talk, engage in sexual activity, or simply do nothing at all and wait for the time to expire.

The Taming of the Shrew — a comedy by William Shakespeare that involves the story of a man who hires another man to court the older sister of the woman he loves. The hired man employs different tactics to render the older sister an obedient wife.

Lady Tremaine — Cinderella's wicked stepmother.

· · ·

SNEAK PEEK

Just when I thought Oz had finally fired his ass, I had to find him here.

He strides in my direction, closing the empty gap between us in a couple of steps with his tantalizing scent. Without a warning, he goes down to his knees.

A gust of warm air creeps down my body, sending shivers crawling down from my stomach and to the heat pooling in between my thighs. My knees wobble, and my breathing gradually becomes erratic.

I immediately grip the table's edge for balance, my eyes refusing to take a single peek at the glorious golden mane drawn back into a tight coil on the back of his head.

THUMP! .... THUMP-THUMP! BA-DUMP! What was that?

THUMP! .... THUMP-THUMP! BA-DUMP! I clutch at my chest, my hands twisting the soft cotton fabric of my shirt to stop the thundering cadence from resonating around me.

My mind, whose main job was to scream at me to get a grip of myself, instead is rendered speechless by a single question: How do I breathe again?

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Copyright © 2017 Lei André