Her blood rained, like droplets, on an unchanging spot. Beside her bed. Accumulated. Drop by drop. Every drop. Except the first one.

He closed his palm, felt the warmth of the first droplet with his eyes closed and walked out of the window.

His fall was long and complete.

He landed in a pool of blood. And the blood rained on him, like droplets. Over and over again. It burned his skin. And his palm. He had to open his palm. And found her sleeping in it. Carelessly, she must have cut her left wrist. And therefore, she was bleeding. Her blood rained, like droplets, on an unchanging spot. He had to stop the bleeding. It was the only measure. To stop the blood rains. He had to stop the bleeding. Or let go of her. And let go of her memories.

He closed his palm, felt the warmth of her breath as she slept inside and threw her out of the window.

Her fall was monotonous and sad.

She woke up after she fell. Landed softly on her spongy bed. She opened her eyes. And with a still hazy vision, she saw him walking out of the window of their room. Falling, carelessly. She found it all to be too absurd. Including her own life. She had the razor blade lying beside her bed. She used it well. It was the only measure.

Her blood rained, like droplets, on an unchanging spot. Beside her bed. Accumulated. Drop by drop. Every drop. Except the first one.