Life, death and a scoop of ice cream

Today feels like a good day to die...

The sky is blue, morbid

my skin looks so wrinkled, I'm now 30 and no one can imagine how sad I feel, in my perfect life, with a perfect job, such a perfect and popular girl...

I don't know what happened to me since that day

I woke up to a different reality, nothing seemed truthful anymore

I spent hours observing people, all kind of people

Sitting on my favourite bench by the port; I used to meet my dad here, always accompanied by his superficial monthly girlfriend...all that girly perfume, gave me a nauseous headache, even just the memory of it...

In front of me, a middle-aged husband, showing off his latest muscular achievements, traded with hours spent weight-lifting at the local trendy noisy gym.

He kept looking everywhere apart from his own wife or kids,...she looked on the verge of a breakdown, her hair thinning, that "no one is in" expression and that body with no precise shape, denied by any appreciation...

A group of lads, also walking by, their phone like a compass in the desert of human interactions. They can't take their eyes off those screens, but somehow manage to walk in a semi-straight line of a designed scheme, you can only see in Air shows on a sunny clear day.

They're all dressed the same, I couldn't believe their hats were exactly the same, white was surely the only colour available left in all stores.

To complete that wonderful scenery, my dearest characters, women:

let's say that straight, all women compete against all women.

A woman, most of the times, is aiming to win some imaginary trophy: usually for the most beautiful, the sexiest, the most intellectual, the best dressed, the best hair, the best leader in the group, the best fun icon...and this is when no man is supervising because when a man is in a vicinity, the race becomes bloody.

My icecream has melted and twisted in my own thoughts, at least I can see the sea from here; the sea has never disappointed me.

I feel invisible somehow and all this pretending that goes on in the world is sickening, today more than ever...this ice cream tastes like blood.

I could pass this sticky hand through my hair and end this day with a punk hair style, red lipstick on my cheeks, pills overdose and pee down my trousers...

maybe not, no one will try remembering me after that, what a silly death scene to find...

So, I'll jump off the bridge then, that will save my pride...goodbye useless world.

Here I am, Stamford Bridge; too windy, maybe the water is too cold...haven't even tasted my last ice cream.

I look down, the water is calling me, I should stop thinking now...

I'll sit right underneath the metal frame, I am invisible still...

I'm shaking and my hands are hurting, so tight, sticky...I close my eyes and cry all my pain away but the pain stays...

The metal frame is so cold and unfriendly, could this be my very last moments, will anyone save me, hug me...is there anyone that can see me...now ....now?!

Last drop of positive energy and I open my eyes again, to notice a black box tied to the frame. I've no time for any inconvenient death delay, I'm doing so well, I think...Curiosity killed the cat but death is on the plate today, so let's open the bloody box...

My hands are hurting even more, pulling the rough strings around that thing...

Inside...!!!What ?!?? money, lots of money, too much money...shocking, God I almost fell off the bridge!!! ...

What's this? Arsenio Lupin's hint of an approaching Alzheimer...

And there's a black notebook, just a few words written: money can't replace love, but you must be such a special soul to have found this, please don't jump, I love you, this is my contact, call me now! Arsenio.