i’m looking at your old posts, written two, three years ago, my dear friend, because i am infinitely curious how on earth could my metaphorical death had managed to render you to such a state.
sometimes i think of you passingly and wonder how you’re doing (there is no spite left). but i dare not to ask (out of guilt), so i sometimes gather around the fringes what you care to spill to the world, and be settle on that instead. it’s enough for me to know that you are well.
perkaraperkara 