AREN'T WE ALL?

I can't sleep. I guess it's a no-way-out situation for me to write something. Time feels faster then ever these days. I can't begin to write my resignation form. I don't think my family is aware of my smoking even though I burn my cigarettes in my room. I don't mind if they know. In fact, I don't think people would tell me to stop doing anything I'm doing. 

I can see my skin well with this bright white light. The little hair and the goosebumps. The imprint of my bra, the crease when I bend and the two moles on my right upper arm I discovered a week ago. I can see how normal I am at this moment and I can tell little about my interest in describing it. All I know is I stuck my tongue out to touch my chest and I could see the pointy tip of it moving up and down. It felt cool, wherever my tongue touched. 

I need to lose some weight and have my hair cut shorter. The sun needs to burn less and hide itself more often. If I were in a movie, would it be comfortable for the audience to watch? No, I don't think so. Because their mind is blind and the script wouldn't be made to be understood. 

Paris has been flooded. If it disappears, I'll be so sad that I'll forget about it the next day. A month later I'll cry over it and a year later I'll call Tangier home. One day, a Parisien will sail by my house on the Mediterranean Sea. We'll go into the water and I won't return. At the age of 40, I'll disappear like Paris to start my life over again. 

Maybe I'll never be able to do it. Maybe the reborn of people's life will be more likely executed through a divorce, a family member's death or bankruptcy. Or maybe I'm too young to know what makes life a life and how little sense my words make. But they were never meant to be understood. Without the ability to feel and truly feel, no one can ever live a life. I'd feel so sad for them. So sad that I couldn't care less because there're plenty of them walking pass my life and there's this big concern of mine I need to spend time for. 

I care about no one but myself. When a person appears in my life, and suddenly he or she makes up a part of me, I'll care about them, too. At this moment, I no longer enjoy seeing my chest's skin.