She looked at the F which summed up her f-ing life, and understood why Van Gogh had sliced off his ears. Life simply sucked. And if that was not all, ...othing mattered anymore. Her husband of many years had just told her he wanted to leave. And she was mourning the loss of a lousy sexless ten year marriage. At 34, nonetheless, and with no kids to show for it, either. ‘I guess it’s good-bye then,’ Matt had put a hand on her shoulder, just before getting into the car with a smug smile. ‘Yes,’. Otherwise it looked black like every other Asian’s. The strands flowed freely down the nape of her neck and onto the bed, though some stuck to her wet skin. She was still sweating, but so was I. She was a small creature, easily bundled in my arms. Small, but warm – both inside and out. Her personality was infectious, a permanent smile tugged at her lips and jokes rose from her like bubbles in a boiling pot. She went by the maxim of living life to the fullest without regrets. Nothing troubled. More

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