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Busy days, busy walks, endless studying;

lazy moods, lazy yawns, countless pondering.

Since the last post I published from now, it's evident that I haven't talked to myself for a quite long time. This results in a situation that scares me the most: rotten English, oh shooooot!

Seit diesem Sommer habe ich mich um ein Ding Sorgen gemacht. Es ist schwierig für mich zu genau schreiben, weil ich immer träume! Ich sehr denke, dass wirklich niemand was ich gesagt habe verstanden wird. Deshalb schreibe ich jetzt auf deutsch, dann könnt ihr kein Wort kennen. Hast du eine Liebesgeschichte gehören? Kannst du raten, ob ich mich von dir angezogen fühlen? Manchmal stelle ich mir viele Fragen, die sonst mich stören. Jedes Lächeln, jedes Wort, jede Wahrheit und jede Lügen machen mich Schlafstörung. Ich kann nicht fast was passiert ist verstanden wegen dieser langweilige Geschichte. Kann jeder mir helfen? Kann jeder mir die Antwort erzählen? Ich bin doch müde von der Schwierigkeit.

In between Dreams

Somewhere over the cloud;

somewhere under the tree;

somewhere around the house;

somewhere between the dream.

There must be something quite indefinite.

No matter how desperately I try, I still couldn't see.

It's said when thing gets hazy, it's called beauty.

While I say when dream gets realistic, it's called unreality.

Closeness, remoteness;

distance can be preciousness.

Playground

When I was not that civilized, or not that "well-educated" and sophisticated, my mind was unlimited. It was around the time when I was at elementary school, everything could be possible as long as my mind was awake. While I was asleep, well, nothing was impossible, much wilder, more fanciful. This born ability gave me the reason why I could fool around all day long without doing things and still not be tired of the silence, and the isolation. Beside myself, the creativity was my best friend, teaching me how to paint, how to sing, how to dance, how to smile, and how to play. She was with me all the time wherever I went. Even though I turned in, she helped me build me dreams, led the way I thought about everything. She created what I loved, and what I needed.

Who didn't have this kind of friend when being kids? Everyone did. But when we grew up, she vaguely disappeared. Like the boiling water evaporating, like the street lights getting dimmed, she seldom came back, will probably never return. And then we need other stuff to take over her place. We desperately search for any friendships, relationships, indulgence, luxuries, pleasures, and sin. Most of people will find their jouneys totally in vain and upset. Swimming through the ocean, running through the desert, it ends up yourself but nothing. Our creativity was killed, was murdered. Our minds were no more in harmony. Instead, there were hollow, emptiness, vacancy, and weakness.

We turn to be law-abiding citizens, moral saints, and decent men, but we forgot how to be kids that we were born to be, that we used to be.

Je ne vais pas bien.

God, I hate this feeling. There is nowhere left to hide in. That kind of thought just keeps haunting my mind day by day. I hate those tricky games which some players are good at. I can't even tell the truth from lies. The worries, I guess, are coming from the terrible thought that I would probably fail for no experience. There's a first for everything, isn't it? I'm not really sure what I'm afraid of. Is it the person who I'm dealing with? Or the situation that I have been involved in? There is always a voice which I have no idea where it comes from, maybe from the other part of me or something, talking me into giving a shot. But it turns out that I don't have the guts to buy me a front seat to unveil the curtain in front of me. Could it be worse if I show my true feeling? Or have I already been getting too far?

I hate the suffering between expectation and disappointment.

I hate the difference between this and that.

I hate everything so vulnerable when it comes to this complicated sentiment.

I hate it.