You’re lying next to me, sleeping, because the air in Hanoi is heavy and makes us tired. I stare at you and I wanna cry, like I did in the morning, after you woke me up and had sex with me, only half awake. You comforted me and told me to cry in Singapore, not yet, asked me if I wasn’t happy now, being with you. I am not happy. My heart is so heavy. You make it so bearable but you can’t take away all the weight. I was sick and you cared for me, you take my bag and you kiss me and you look at me and you tell me you love me and I can only stare at you with such a heavy heart. I am sorry. I’m sorry I tease you and get annoyed by you, when you’re being nothing but perfect. It bugs me how much you like me, why would you like me so fucking much? Look at me, just fucking look at me, can’t you see how empty I am? How unlively, how uninspiring, how unmotivated, how tense, how boring, how shallow? How can you be pleased with this? How can you look at me in such a goddamn loving way? It kills me. Your appreciation and love should be put elsewhere, where it didn’t go to waste, because even such honest feelings as yours rot in the dead garden of my heart.