I thought you were beautiful. I thought you were beautiful. In my heart I thought this was what I wanted, and I thought I would find what I wanted in this way. But you're not what I want. You're ugly, you're boring, you've got so many impotent flaws and bad habits I want to change. I can't bear it. You're defiled with my brain.
More importantly, you're giving me a debt. Why do you owe me? Even if you do not owe me today, I can't talk about my worth when I think that you may have been lying to me for a long day, thinking that I can live with you for the sake of me. That's why I wanted to kill myself. I'm a creature that I can't stand. I want to break the mirror, all the mirrors of the world, all the concepts of mirrors, everything about reflection, everything about reflections, to sink with me as stones tied to my feet. Death spreads its vast sleep, and we swallow this pill with great strength.
But I love you so much, and I don't think you should be in the snow like me. It doesn't matter if I die 10,000 times. I deserve to be abandoned, and you're not. You have so many reasons to live. You're supposed to be in the way of your destiny. In this series of actions on the tracks, someone should hold you, and you should be advised that this is an endless cycle of time and space. Every step of your life is a piece of chess that falls on the ground like a child who is starving to death. It's so real, so real, and it doesn't have any action to do with your clippings. From this moment on, I don't even think you're ever a shadow-deep man. The shadows of your past are being eroded.
Is this your life? Do you live anywhere? Did we see you or did you get torn by the light? Have you ever hugged anyone with your shadow again? Have they hesitated to hold their own shadow?
So I began to know that I existed for my shadow. My life is insignificant, and my shadow, it needs too much protection - I hope it needs. I grabbed something I could grab to protect it. When I fall, I protect it; when I rest, I fight for it; even I dream of my shadow as power. That's how much I love it, how much I need it. I'm the guardian of it now. I embraced it without principle until it was sometimes tired. I wish it had a good dream. It's a good dream not to need a guardian. It doesn't even have a body.
The people who sleep in the light are the enemies I need to fight for. They are numerous, lying in every realist story. I protested against their hunger strike until they could not even shed a tear, and they remained silent and breathing. Their guns are as heavy as my tears, and they can't get enough of them, let alone destroy them. They don't do anything. They don't say anything. They sometimes look at me, but they don't even look at me. And I'm only breathing in a place full of light.
It's hard to talk about anything without a guidebook. Can't you let me find something to follow? Or will you not allow me to lie to myself and follow the path that they consider to be exhausted? Why can't I grow a pair of those shoes? I lost my body. Why can't they teach me to grow artificial limbs? I remember when I asked that question, they looked me in the eye. They're too bright.
I have exhausted all the power of my body to write a mediocre story of nuclear waste being radiationed somewhere, so that no water flowing can rewrite your inescapable, filthy fate. Get you out of freedom where there's no shadow.