This morning is coated with frozen breaths and rain. It rains differently in a tropical country. What a pity letting our shoes dip into the density of inconvenience. This kind of weather makes me long for noodles, any kind at all. Chewy dough, hard-boiled egg, tender meat, spicy soup, delightful veges. Those remind me of Motosan-Uber. I'm probably one of the few ones who give them compliments for the ramen. As artificial as it tastes, it's my ritual after hot chocolate or Earl Grey. It's my second stop after going for a walk, my second round for my stomach. And it actually rhymes.
I miss my unfinished paintings. I want to hug each of them and say
I'm sorry for leaving them undone for so long. The colors, the paper, the smell
of unfinished work. It cuts me. If the crayons and pencils had a brain, they
would realize how terrible I am and rush to the door immediately. Even the
paintings on the wall would break the frames and run away. My cats
would help them run faster. The squeeky birds would stand next to the windows
and sing bravo. Many things will happen in the ironic calculation of God to finally lead to the
explosion of one big failure. Suddenly I'm well-known for no
reason.
