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152 pages, Paperback
First published July 18, 2016
I want to grow up but my soul
doesn't seem to be very excited about it.
Maybe she's lying.
She's just a soul.
One day she says, "Get up, lazy cat! You have
to live your day proud and loud!" but another
day she whispers, "So tired, can we just stay
at home all day, call in sick, write an ugly poem,
and be busy being invisible?" I can't control her.
I'm just a body.
She's the thinker.
She's so inconsistent and always
has this thirst for attention
and celebration for herself.
She makes me busy seeking for distractions.
She never counts me in her future plans, she's
too busy shouting meaningless motivational
sentences or killing my confidence
in a very low whisper, like wind in
December, "You're not good enough."
That's why the hardest memories to forget is the worst memories to remember. People are funny, they are always willing to hurt themselves. And when everything comes to an end, there's nothing but this exhausting effort to forget.