A night.

Putting the book spine on the table, my eyes scanned through the words. Mind was sinking the soul into the characters. Pause and stare out of the window. No car jamming, no people walking. On and off, a car races past the flyover. How long since the last time I’d been staying up whole night? I couldn’t even remember when it was, just barely remembered once it was. Anyway, what the feeling is if looking at the sky when the darkness vanish and brightness stride forward.

Last night, another table of laughter after a hiatus. This night, I missed it with a new bunch of people just because I fall asleep and woke up much later than that. I whispered, Shit, when I awoke. But I seems like having earned a good sleep, didn’t I?

I couldn’t help myself, even it’s not rightfully. Still be the mover and then rewarded by disappointment, following with sarcasm. Again, it’s not rightfully, I truly und.

Leaning on what I had leaned to. Whilst other stepping into my pages, I remained stood and hopefully not another round of leaning and clinging.

Alles gut, back to the story. I feel better with the satisfaction born from flipping the pages.
:)

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