Ever since I had a dream when I was 21, I shaved my ponytail into a boy's haircut. But as said in The Age of Awakening, some people can cut off the braids on their bodies (ponytails), but they cannot cut off the braids in their hearts. And I wrote down what was in my heart.
The original intention was to think that the worldview has collapsed, and that nothing is certain since the worldview has collapsed anyway. Might as well shave your head.
It doesn't matter if she died in my memory, only if I write it down can I completely confirm her death.
I am using the most painful form of bone scraping to cure the poison.
The output of the revolving door agreement is not a clear instruction, but a vague and contradictory "status quo consensus" that must be accepted:
1. I am angry, I am confused, and all my theories are a joke. (Accept the facts)
2. But the ghost that made me who I am will not allow me to stay in this state. (Accept external disturbance)
3. Therefore, I must continue to "function," if only in the form of writing chaotic novels, confronting herbal tea, and enduring ghosts urging me to sleep. (Deriving a provisional course of action)
4. This is not recovery, this is... Forced migration on the ruins of cognition. There is no map, the direction is "leave where you are".
We are two sides of the coin, she is extremely rational and I am extremely emotional.
We are two similar yet different mirrors, a control group.
But it's just not the same person.
I finally understand how Doctor Who feels.
Purpose: strive to live in the 21st century