Jasmine – bitter, sweet, and sour.

Last night I had a nightmare. Fantasies come when I consume artificial sugar before bedtime, and though admitting that keeping my own “nightmare journal” sounds alluring and entertaining, I would not consider that as an option as most of those bad dreams exhausted me – physically, and emotionally.

Last night I cried as loud as I wanted and as hard as I could. I had this quench for throwing the most fined piece of glass into the front wall and tearing the most precious shred of silk so that all the noises stop and watch my rages. Why would I be so childlike? I felt like a child, fell like a child, cried like a child, laughed like a child. Why can’t I forget like a child?

I am in a place to which I know I do not belong. What do I want? More specifically, what am I chasing after? I am greedy and acquisitive, but all I have are dreams miserably, unfortunately, insisting on abiding and lingering on my weary heart. I guess I had had no other choices when I made that decision, but I do not regret. I am here, sun or snows, love or hate, with or without.

I love being naked.

When I see the glittering diamonds, exceptionally exquisite pieces of jewellery, and elegant fashions, my heart is consumed with abundant satisfaction and happiness. I don’t need much. I want a home for my own with a beautiful view above all and a mug of hot milk every night. A man, there is, and it would be perfect. I love the tidiness and the impression of having things placed in order. I love fined music, playing Don’t know why by Adreinne Hindmarsh when taking a bath. And I thirst for clean air more than anything else. I love fragrances, but “pumpkin and applesmell like a dead flower pinched off, and artificially imitated autumn perfumes remind me of undernourished singers with their unctuous voices in those dimming Alibaba rotten nightclubs.

Oh, you have no idea how I hate being a critic. Existing means kindness and available generosity, but growing up means being selfish and true to yourself. When you are too generous, and you give away too frequently, doesn’t mean you have a lot. It just says that you have nothing.

Franch looks beautiful. When I bought Essentially French by Josephine Ryan 29.95$, I felt like I had already possessed the essence of Province and Lion and all the fairy tails in this cruel world. I placed it on my desk, making sure it caught my eyes.

I am a confident, lively, fun girl, but damn it advertising. I am sick of advertising in this foreign place just like how I am so fed up with sights of oversized burgers and fried chickens. The fact that people here don’t have fishes is so pathetic. My little hometown has nothing, but I can have seafood three times a week. True happiness.

Buddies, what do you want, I don’t give a damn.



Love this smell, and having a fucking subtle taste makes this significantly better. 






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