You don't love me anymore. It makes me want to die.

Sister

I grew up in the eyes of countless indifferent eyes. The current society was built by a big man, and I ran into the back of the builder. Sister, to put it simply, I'm the dumbest fool you ever liked. Although I believe that my mind and heart are as cold as the incandescent lights of the funeral home in the morning... I think you know that I am a self-constructed genius, and that if my life is not built on its own, it will collapse in an instant, as if your life would turn into dust without the guidance of the big ones.

When was the last time you came home? I forgot. I still can't accept the life form that calls me my uncle, the birth of nothing that sometimes scares me. Do you remember, it's like when you went to college, Dad used your laptop to watch TV dramas, and one day you couldn't help but yell at him, "Go to work! Go to work!" Dad's embarrassed about you, but he agrees. I'd love to cry. I wanted to take him to the top, when his wrinkles were deep and now deeper, and I had a time of crazy drinking -- what was the big deal? I think you're all against it.

Do you remember Wu Ning? That was my first love in high school, when I used the money you gave me to buy a couple T-shirt with her, you saw her, we played cards at home. I broke up with her in less than three months, and I didn't love her, and I never even wanted to love her.

I think I love you.

José says

Okay.

That book was our common yearning, and U Ning was not the projection I wanted. I thought you were a romantic like me, until one day you told us you were pregnant and needed to drop out of school and bring a strange man with confidence into the house, and I realized that you were not like me.

When I was 16, I dreamed of the best form of my 26-year-old -- a social success with eight abs. Now, of course, I've got a tummy that rolls around, a little bald, and it's often when I'm angry at people, I get a smileful face full of twigs. I'm surrounded by people I don't understand, who look like they've been through the Second World War and say to me, "Ginger, you're awesome." A compliment? But I don't understand you. How can you understand me? And then there were some teenagers under the age of 20 who wanted to do the same thing as I did when I was 16, and I was just as ashamed as I was 16, and I laughed and talked to them. I've been seeing a lot of old friends lately, and I find that they're not happy enough. I can't imagine myself in 30 years' time becoming a man of high acid, a fat brain, a indifference to everything but a passion, a desire for death, who sits in the hands of a pilot, and I want to die now.

Finally, one day, I cut my flesh through the scene, and many of the people present were not enjoying it.

"I feel your extreme pain."

Disperse, collapse!

What else can I do? My pain isn't your pain. How can I hurt you if I don't? Well, now I don't want to talk to you.

Art is an illusion, philosophy is a lie, science is a tool for enslaving you and me, living in a great void, less demeaning, little pricks.

We were sorted and put into the world's construction. Our pain was defined and designed, and with the emergence of countless kinds of comprehensible and decomposition goods, everything finally came to a life cycle. Can only the power of death penetrate me? It'll be too late.

And I am diverse, and sometimes cheap, sometimes elegant, sometimes hateful, sometimes wise, sometimes Jesus, sometimes North Island. Do you know the story of the degasmoni cut meat for the eagle? He cut off his flesh and fed it to the eagle who was chasing the pigeon because he was him, the knife was him, the flesh was him, the eagle was him, and the pigeon was him. Look, what would you do if we became Buddha?

Then I cried with Song's chest: "I want to release my grief." That's what I think. I'm so sad that I can't make my own parents happy, I'm so sad, I'm so sorry. When I think about all this, I smile.

Sister, I haven't dreamt about you in a long time, and I haven't seen you in a long time. We were the closest partners in childhood, and now I talk about life and death, but I don't know where you're going. I hope you're happier than I am.

Here's to you, brother.