Actually, he’s rather a frequent visitor than a friend. Most people were surely unwilling to step into this place, asylum. However, he’s an exception. I had already known him for seven months. Since last winter, he would come here to see me twice or three times a month. Some doctors said he’s a journalist just as he said himself, but I really doubted this profession. He’s different from journalists’ common images in my mind. Also, I had no idea why he had insisted on “interviewing” me for such a long time. Except these wonders, he’s the only person I wanted to talk with. I head the clock tick and looked up at it. Yesterday, the nurse said he’s arrive time would be 9:40 am.

After killing time on the bench for a while, I saw him, Mr. Tate. He smiled at me, holding a bouquet of gentian flowers. I remembered that I mentioned gentian as favorite last time.

“How’s everything going?” he said, passing me the flowers.

“Good,” ordinary question and answer, like always.

“Thank you,” the fragrance of flowers made me feel fresh.

I know I was an excessive quiet girl and hate to communicate with others. When I first came here, doctors said that I really need cure because of silence, depression, or sometimes extreme emotional instability with no sign. There were also other symptoms I even didn’t get them. I knew I was kind of strange but definitely not that weird or terrible. They all said that I put myself into another world, which I imagined by myself. In fact, their opinion was half right. I was special and indeed belonged to another world, but it’s real and not fake, only could be seen by my own. Obviously, nobody trusted me. Whatever, I had already got used to it. I would never tell them my word. It was the last secret I’d give out. In this patients’ heaven, I only saw creepy hell. Thus, I chose deeper silence until Mr. Tate come to me.

At first, I resisted his interrupting into my life. I stuck to my own businesses, such as reading, drinking, eating, or most time, keeping silent. I took delight in this state, and hoped that this stranger could leave me alone. However, he’s so persistent. Finally, he won. Not enough satisfied with simple communication, he was try to know my real world recently.

“Today your role is still a gentle thief?” I showed my humor only with this acquaintance.

“If you want me to,” he was smart, journalists’ feature.

I said nothing with my pouty face.

“If you don’t want to say anything, just go for a walk,” Tate caught a glimpse of the nurse not far away, “I think you are too well-behaved to let her supervise.”

“Um…” maybe he’s right or maybe just a kidding. I didn’t think it for a long time and move forward.

“Would you mind putting the flowers to your room first?” he asked softly.

The aroma was still around me and I stared at gentian in a while, “I want to stay with it.”

“Maybe you should thank for these lovely flowers,” I sighed and lifted my face, “Today is a nice day because when I had my breakfast, I saw today is blue, just like gentian.”

“Blue?” His eyes bright about, but did not speak. Then I saw him switching on his voice recorder.

His professional habit always made me uncomfortable. It seemed that our friendship was more complicated and he preferred regarding me as a patient not a friend. I realized this long long ago. Some doctors said he would leave if he had enough materials to complete an essay. I knew but didn’t want to believe. I still wanted to unfold my secret today, looking at the blue flowers I thought like this.

“Um…” actually, I was afraid of friend’s leaving than my special world unsealed.

“Every day has its color.” I could feel my heart trembling, “I could see this color every morning and…”

“And?” his voice tried to be calm to hide his exciting. I could tell this for getting along for months.

“And every color has its own meaning, such as grey refers to a plain day, yellow refers to something unexpected, green refers to my suffers. I only saw red twice and its bad because somebody I know would die,” I took a deep breath and thought I was going to cry.

“Blue is a good day. My feelings are up and down with these colors. I’m not weird, I ‘m just special with these…these different things…” I hid my face to calm down myself avoiding out of control. Honestly, I had no courage to see his look now.

“Thanks,” no emotional voice.

Then, I saw an average journalist’s face.

Grabbed the recorder, throw it into the fountain, wear a smile and I had my eyes on him, “Are we still friends now?”