Recycling

Empty plop; no meaning in it

It was a beautiful day, I felt something for a moment. The self that passes through the winding path, branching until it arrives at the end of the word. Discovering the meaning of unparalleled award qualifications. Simple in my view, not long.

This self seems to get happy news, as if the fun news of course. News about what? Whatever, I don't want to be bothered with the question fold, making me dislike longer spell and answer it.

This is just a long-lost past memory in my sight, then lost in a word of hope.

All the words of hope that I have been writing, arranged on the blue sheet of paper that has been torn, scattered on the floor, then I picked up for a while and then burned to nothing.

BOOM UP!

BOOM UP!

BOOM UP!

That was the sound of the explosion on the paper I wrote that day, staring dimly at the window. Haha, yes this is to me which is a little bit of a surprise, what is it possible that the sound of an explosion could be heard? I just wanted to ask, she said the writing had a life. Can, as per the topic, I really write. Eh, wait? Does the sound of the explosion have a life? Wow, wrong logic seems. I'm sorry, tomorrow won't be again, especially today.

All this time I don't know if anyone has been angry or upset about reading this? Yes, there may be. Of the few favorite clicks, many are also unfavorites. At first they click favorites, as if shifting east to west. For me the atmosphere remains at the top of the sky, still faithfully resisting the sun's ultraviolet rays.

The hot air. Hotter than a furnace of fire, when celestial bodies fall to earth. It penetrates the atmosphere from one distance to another.

Slowly burning until it appeared before the eyes of the shooting star that had not yet reached the ground, it was destroyed first on the surface of the sky.

Under the sky. The barren land shows traces of the steps of the self that had been silent for a long time waiting for time to pass, meaningless. All this is unfaithful. One thing about wisdom can come from various causes and the desire to contemplate it.

From a glance of the word or sentence or must first be a complete paragraph, a long understanding to load the book in thick volume and a pleasant ending.

That's what I feel right now, a book that's not too thick. However, the book gives a meaning at the end of the story.

The sound of clinking metal coins that day I dropped, and then I heard for a moment.

I understand tired of being tired all this time trying to get rid of longing, sometimes this self is trying to fight for the feeling of always loving herself, settling into one woman who is now somehow she is. Is it in my heart? Or maybe nothing at all.

I am a lanang who does not know the meaning of love in the whole temples of beauty. All I know is a kind of speech with no clear ends, ending in minutes. Just read it feels boring, not exciting like watching soap operas. It is likely that what the script editor said that day was indeed true, he said it is better that this writing be burned.

Strange writing, there was no meaning in it. It was as if an empty barrel was springing up, as if an ocean without salt. Tasteless, no taste, sleepy and want to sleep.

Before that, there was a glimpse of a smile that I used to stare a little neatly with an arrangement of white teeth radiant like an upside-down crescent moon. Baduuh, it seems like my writing is misunderstood.

Logical flaws, hard to imagine and it feels impossible. In fact, it feels out of sync, of no use at all, either thought out or eliminated.

Do you know in the desert? The Sahara desert is unaffected, the boiling heat as if burning the skin. I stood, still daydreaming in the sand. Extending its breadth, my mind was expecting a word that could save me.

Nahas, there is nothing I can save, everything seems to have been abandoned, as if it has been forgotten and destroyed in pieces.

Only about confusing words, it is better for me to dwell without sound and writing. More comfortable like this, calm, like and loose in terms of explaining.

That's one form of stupidity. I still miss the figure who somehow, loving herself unbeknownst to her, this sense of being buried. Long time, long time ago.

If this longing and pent-up taste were like a corn ore that was cutaneous, it might now have shown signs. Ready to harvest, unfortunately not yet had time, weathered falling to the ground. Some were broken down by grasshoppers and other pest animals.

My proverbs are not only true. Can be wrong or flawed logic, at this time I just try to describe the content of feelings. Clearly, it was clear in my mind.

The word I wrote to go through this chapter has reached over 600 words. Again, I want to add another thousand. I don't know what will be domed in order to reach the target number of words.

Maybe that day, when I went to the paddy field with grandfather. Staring at the green expanse and full of peaceful wind. White Elephant Country does feel different because there are grandparents here.

Grandpa looked at. “Man, do you know how vast the universe is?”

“Vast of the universe?” I made sure the truth didn't know the answer.

“Iya, Man. You know how vast the universe is, just answer not know. Grandpa's just like you, man. Don't know the answer.” Grandpa laughs.

I stared hard. “Didn't you go to college, busy talking about the universe and all the stars in the sky. Is there not a single one that grandfather can know from the vastness of the universe.”

“Man, you should know grandfather never thinks narrow, of course in this case. The extent of the earth 510.1 million km² out of this planet, we are in the solar system. Filled with other planets constantly roam through light travel, even beyond the galaxy. Man, grandfather can't imagine, only able to swallow. We human inhabitants of the earth are the smallest figures in the universe, what you see towering buildings, cars and magnificent houses. All that is nothing compared to the vastness of the universe, everything is small.”

Grandfather explained it at length, looking at me seriously. “Man, how strong the storm will hit your life later, one thing you remember. The universe is too vast, it is not appropriate for you to reverberate. Namely and simply live life as it should.”

It was in the rice field. Grandfather simply explained at length various kinds of experiences that I certainly did not want to write. As life should go on.

Somehow I passed through it, longing for a Wapta and continuing to be in the folly that others often laugh at when discussing it.

But nevertheless. Come on, this to me is a heart thing that I'm explaining probably won't make them understand. If discussed at length it remains the same. It is easy, for people who do not feel it to say very loudly about longing and harboring a sense is a form of ignorance he said.

While the person experiencing it just as I would understand how the longing exists and is real, the sense that comes and keeps coming comes the word in mind.

If I understand it more deeply, it's all true. Of the stupidity that I am currently experiencing. I must now be able to change into a person who can control feelings in terms of missing him. However, I must be able to survive in a single word that makes me often drift in daydreaming.

Daydreaming in terms of missing someone about him. Longs are rusty or even rusty. Want as soon as I can get rid of it, trying to stretch the chest a little up.

I have written a lot. Several chapters have passed in terms of things that have been making me dissolve in daydreams, which have made me silent with many words scattered.

This description is a mere void that seems to have no meaning, empty hopping. In fact, it could be that these words cannot be understood, even deeper because after all this time I wanted to chant the verse in muttering, it turns out that I could not be happy.

However, the self that has been veiled bitterly has tried as much as possible to convey words. Only now, I realize that I am not good at poetry.

Not good at stringing the temple that I have always wanted to chant. In a soft tone that no one expected to reply. About the feeling of being stifled in silence waiting for the caress of love.

My body fell silent in a desperate gloom of not eagerly stepping up. The self that is merely whimpering is filled with emptiness of mind and without a sense of purpose.