I have a habit. When I feel quite disappointed about something, I write on papers and keep it somewhere.  The things mentioned are those hardly to be told to someone else. After 0’clock early this morning, I write again about my curved emotion in the past 10 years. It’s the first time I write with a can of beer. Until my eyelids can not be held apart, half refill of the rollerball pen’s ink was drained into clear papers. Only half of the relation with a person was memorized.  Maybe a novel will be written.