And now, to 40 years old me.

Dear 40 years old me,

I am sorry if your life is still fucked up. Blame that 23 years old bitch who still stuck in you. But it is good to know that you’re still hanging on, there. Perhaps you’ve gained enough experience in life, the sweetness of it is you have something to keep inside for yourself rather than let your life empty without anything good or even bad to remember through the walk.

17 years ago, there’s a blog, and it’s yours. I really hope you can go through it back, to see why you still survive. It’s one of the greatest phases you’ve been in, in this life, I must say.

Yours,

23 years old you.