It's quarter to midnight. Fifteen minutes before the Water Snake slithers away from the stomping gallops of the Wood Horse. And it's dark enough to retard me from writing my thoughts in that damned paper thingy. So here I am, exploiting the glaring whiteness of the text box of a new post to write my thoughts.
Seven counting to eight years. Woah. That's a lot of time to keep a wound open, exposed in all its rawness to the harsh elements. I asked you out not because of a desperate and impulsive move to further open the wound but to close this gaping hole once and for all. I imagined it to be the last time I'm going to savor the thought and entertain it, then I'll put an end to that bugging chapter of my life to make way for a new one. Right now, I am precariously balancing a threaded needle in my fingers. Poised in midair. Waiting for the chance to start seaming the sides of this ugly laceration. Say 'yes' and I'll start with the stitching. Say 'no' and I'll be stuck with this threaded needle until I get the chance to start the stitches. Either way, I have to close this wound.
So please, either mark it 'Unread' (although it wouldn't make sense anymore because I saw that you have already 'Seen' it) or give an answer. Oh, Gong Xi Fa Cai, by the way.
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