My Paper-cut

My Craft

I don't like snow. It rarely snows in my place; every time it snows, it's like a bustling festifal, which just makes me feel more lonely and empty.

Last Word of Nobody

More than a thousand times, she thought of suicide; and now, this idea is haunting her again. She is so young, only 20. Nevertheless she is so depressed, sorrow never really being out of her heart. She wants death, she knows it. This is a deliberate thought rather than any daredevil impulse.

Maybe she should write some kind of last word, she thought. No one has ever got any idea of how sad and lonely she is; there is a volcano deep down in her heart and now she wants to erupt, in her last moment of life. Where to begin? She speaks to herself, almost inaudibly. She doesn't want to show her weakness, though she might be a thousand times worse than what people had seen and known. Even if she wrote down the whole story, could people really understand? She has recalled their laughing faces and contemptuous eyes immediately which she has seen enough. What else could it be other than a  topic of after-meal conversation for them? They don't comprehend nor care at all. They might say how great sorry they were to hear the news, or blame how unreasoning and lame suicide was, just taking it as a good chance to show their honorable compassion which she detests the most.

Vengeance is one of the reasons why I live. Another is love.

Love Me, Love My Cat

十秒钟 Ten seconds

十秒钟之前，我真的真的有很多很多想说。
五秒钟之前，我想我可以把要说的话简化到100个字了。
三秒钟之前，我想我可以概括到一句话了。
现在，我发现我不想说了。

十秒钟之前会是白描。
五秒钟之前会是叙述。
三秒钟之前会是抽象。
现在是不解释了。

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