It's really annoying to have this snow, at least sometimes.
It's too cold to open the window, but if it's shut, breathing gets harder.

It is just so real.

I am forever at a crossroad. There are paths I need to choose, even if I don't know where they will lead me to. Eventually there will be a dead end, inescapable, waiting quietly under my feet. Along my way, there might be omens that warns me to step away from it, and I'll choose a different route to keep myself alive a bit longer. But there might as well be no such signals at all. The end comes abrupt, taking away my being as a whole.

I am a passenger, an actor in this stage called life. When my chapter is done, next generation will take my place. Whether I remain in people's memory, that's not up to me.

Left and right may never reconciliate, up and down can never unify, and does that mean you and I will never stand together?
We are polar opposite, yet just like the two ends of a magnet, we are attracted to each other. When I am here and you are there, I cannot help but wanting to wade through the water and hold your hand. But when two pieces of magnet becomes one, we become neutral again, and the attraction disappears into the ether.

Yes. One day, all of a sudden, we'll lose it, as if it has never existed in the first place. Walking by you in the streets, I won't throw my head around and stare at your back. Something may tickle my memory, but you are just another passenger, and our past is locked in that distant castle.

In the end, we'll enter another realm, and there we can relive the past, like watching a personal movie. There maybe exclamation marks here and there, and you perhaps will recall my name, but we can't direct this movie. What is done, is done, it's no use trying to rewrite the history.

Go to bed, because tomorrow I'll move on. I don't know where I'll end up at, but as long as I stay alive, in this falsified reality, I will defend only myself. It is fine to fight on without a purpose, because fighting itself is a valid one. Don't mind me picking the thorns along the stem, since I never intend to see the rose in the first place.