A few days has gone since the time winter showed up suddenly and made his presence well known and the snow has already melted down. You can still see traces around, like a bad dream trying to push itself into everything your mind brings up. You are just walking along a sad-looking pavement trying not to think of her. You constantly want to check your phone, but you know she hasn’t called or texted. Despite all the buzz and talking around, it feels like you are dying of silence, like being on a vast, boundless body of water and dying of thirst. You pass by people gathering around in the pavement. Most of them are drug addicts trying to sell whatever they could get their hands on, in order to buy more drugs. You pass by a couple of guys haggling. Suddenly one of them faces you and asks: Sorry, what days is it today? You don’t know, of course. You take out your phone and you see the ‘wed’ in the middle of the screen. You say Çiwarşeme (Wednesday in Sorani Kurdish). He goes back to his conversation and you get stuck with the word you have just blurted out. Çiwarşeme. How u dread going back to your room now with this useless knowledge of what day it is. Its like you carry it on your hands and no matter how hard you try to shake it off, its still there, on your hands, like the scent of a dead body. It is Wednesday. The day she stopped talking to you. The day that has already begun to decompose while still alive.