Saving you is a way to save myself. There were times when I was frightened with being empty. Empty means I have no solid core. I imagine myself functioning like a sponge, in which is capable of absorbing all those residues that left by other people. Sponge only has meaning when it is capable of permeating. Therefore, I become anxious when it's empty. I'll urgently pull things as fillers, whether they make sense or not. I become obsessed with it for awhile. Walking on this heavily congested earth like a wanderer searching for purpose. I am searching for something like sorrow, so I am able to breaking it down into small particles I could hold with my palms. Maybe it explains my attachment with everything that is complicated and ruined. Somehow, it almost looks like a wonderful illness that makes you sick with excitement. As if I am a sage without any heroes to guide. I write their stories in a journal exhibited in my consciousness, drafting them down until they become a pattern ...