Did you find it, now that you’ve gone where everyone ends up going?
What is all this struggle for, what do we really live, or die for?

Dreams, stars, dust, aren't they all one and the same? They all return to darkness..

The sea, the land, the sky and the people, aren’t we all made out of the same things? We are all energy, purely carbon,
but with one extra element, one extra desire. And is that what keeps us going?
Then is that thing fear, or love?

Will all our questions ever be answered?
Do you know now, what is it that we really are?

To the ones who said they'd be there, no matter what
To the ones who said they'll face anything, everything together,
to the times they couldn't handle your fire,
to the times they quit even before they tried

they swore, they said they wouldn't break you,
when all's said and done,
who was the one really there to pick up the pieces?
who was there in the end, who'd take a blow, two, three blows steadfastly by your side?

I would forgive, I would understand, but I won't forget.
These scars, these lessons. Etched permanently in the recesses of my mind,
pulling me back to reality, perhaps it was what I always needed.
If so, then thank you. I grew.

It is possible.

You don’t have to erase that distant, or near past. Look back, the darkness, stains, those aren’t you. 

You can choose. There’s a tomorrow. And if there isnt, then what are you wasting your today doing?

Be who you want to be. Open your eyes and really look. Don’t just feel. Choose and keep choosing to be your best. Act who you want to be.

When the lights seem to be completely gone, choose to shine even brighter.

Revel in the darkness, no one has been where you are, don’t forget.

It is possible. Don’t lose hope.

As always
There’s something I can’t walk out of
As much as I want to
The thoughts go backwards.

Because history, is comforting in its familiarity.
The future, is uncertainty, uncharted territory.

Governed by the gravity of my bagguage, and it seems like everything that happens is always an inevitable addition to its mass.
Dread. This is what it is.
I have gotten tired of dragging it around, to making it look as if there was nothing chained to me.
 I had to keep moving. Even if it was biting into me, grounding me.

And I know all too well this is all in me.
Who’d say they knew how this feels?

These stars within us, so dazzlingly bright

We are these cities, cut off from the skies, ironically by our very own light

When was the last time you pointed out the positions of our constellations, so delicately mapped out in the night sky?

When was the last time we seeked to understand the scope of our universe and all of existence, or to actually think farther than a mere few decades? did you ever try? 

When did you start to turn your head downwards? Was it the city, society, the herd that did this to you?

When did you stop pondering on what was unknowable? Was it when you decided to submit to fate, that we are a negligible part of a potentially meaningless, endless race?

To where?

How depressing we have forgotten the questions, and consequently lost the ability to seek for answers.

How funny, wrapped in our own miniscule bubbles. we say we are freedom, we are the future, when most us are simply blinded by our own radiance.

Look now, who are the ones who can actually see farther? The bright lights of the city, or the muted ones living in the dark?

There’s this book, a quarter filled

Lined with stories, some short, and some winding

Some with overlapping plots, no end in sight except till the book’s very last page

Some stories, hold little space, materializing in only certain chapters

A certain chapter filled with the scent of flowers and the sounds of happiness

A certain chapter dripping with fresh, red blood 



Some bookmarks and pages, dog eared and worn out from all the flipping

Some chapters, never revisited

Also some, with their pages torn out, never to be seen again.

In the index of this book, new information is always penned down meticulously, new concepts, names, places, feelings

All to make sure the reader understands perfectly what the book is about.

Begin. 

A new chapter now.

In my best writing, for hope.

 In bold, for joy. 

Illustrated in color, for beauty. 

In simple prose, for love.

Extending from all the previous stories, what a development. Perhaps the best yet, wouldn’t you say?

一點一點實現 我從未許過的願