文字想投胎；作者懶

每一天，地鐵按著自己軌道，按照自己的速度，穿梭于一個站與下一個站之間。每一輛車箱裏，千變萬化的面孔卻僞裝不了這個城市的死寂。每每到了目的地，身體縂要承受推擠嚷嚷與不爽的蹂躪。生活的規律仿佛帶走了對於雕刻文字的欲望。

是嗎？

總是問自己怎麽了，怎麽不寫了。總是感嘆自己的無力，怎麽每次都來不及把與自己的對話整理記錄下來。總是想找個無聊的理由耍賴。

文字想告訴作者，我還在。作者在夜裏哭泣，我知道是我忘了你。

練習生命（2）

I asked C if he believed in platonic friendship. He said he didn't when he was young.

And I was like really? Why?

He replied nonchalantly, oh cos usually I wanted to have sex. And added he believed in it now. I asked why. He shrugged the question off.

I tried writing today, instead of putting additional hours at work. It was another agonizing attempt at wasting trees.

I asked C if I can just rest at his place. He said sure and left the house for lunch.
 
Afterwards, I told him I usually sleep better in hotel rooms or my friend's house. He was amazed. I laughed and said yes. My house is too crowded. i needed a space and ironically space is everywhere. I sleep well on planes, MRT and waiting for my bill at izakaya too.

I left the conversation hanging. I couldn't bare to tell him yet I can't sleep here too.
There were lust in the space. So dense, it was like a suffocating fog.