I want to quit. The beers, the agony of not having hangovers yet impeded by lethargy and the costs of it.
I like the fuzziness, the buzz of hearing yourself talking to the mind. Screaming, pleading, hoping you’d hear instincts over comfort. It is always a fight-or-flight scenario between those two.
The best part is that I get to mediate because I’m neither Instinct nor Comfort. I get to hear them out and decide where to position myself. The idea is to sit on the fence and pretend that I’m neither the screaming nor the compliant voice.
Because I don’t have to be either.
或许只有你 懂得我 所以你没逃脱
一边在泪流 一边紧抱我 小声的说多么爱我
I don’t care if there’s no such person anymore.