Here is my work that I started at precisely 6:57. My writing is not true, nor interesting. But it reveals the secrets of my obscure secrets. It is like the Orpheus ways – almost succeeding, but it can also be compared to the rush of a water god’s cavalry. So tell me, how does one write such beauty with integrity and confidence?  The answer is something… perhaps it is things like talent, experience, or the common solution: practice.

Here is my work that I am continuing at 7:04. I have yet to reach the top of the mountain that is just above the clouds. And I struggle to fall in love with the words I type now. Still, it feels unknown like modern day’s opinion on the Mona Lisa. I come up with so many questions … questions … questions, and it is quite possible that there are no answers. But is this truth a lie?

Here is my work that I am finishing at 7:15, while looking back at 6:59. I see myself typing the first of the sequential order, and worrying about finding the answer to my ignorance of a confident art. Yet at 7:10, it occurred to me that the truth to this problem is to lie, or to simply have no fear.

Here is my work that I have finished at 7:20, and still appalled on how anger benefitted me with knowledge.


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