I would very much like people to care about me as much as I care about them. Sometimes I wonder if my love is abusive the way I treat it unconditionally. Am I irrational when even my mother won’t text me back or answer my calls? Or am I just worthless. I want someone to love me as hard as I love them; how am I so easy to forget? I always want to run away but have nowhere to go. I’ll stay here for the time being and sit amongst strangers and tap my fingers along with the music as if I don’t think about slitting my throat every waking moment of every single fucking day. The rain is supposted to wash me clean.
Fu Hou, a well-known Buddhist monk from the Chinese city of Quanzhou, died in 2012 at the age of 94. He was mummified in a sitting position and sealed inside a large pottery jar until 2016, when he was removed and covered in gold leaf.
Maybe a lot of the problems stem from the fact that I have not returned to the woods for so long that my body and spirit are rattling the bars of their cages. I liked the cities for the past seven years but I have a strange yearning to return to the abyss I came from. I didn’t realise how primal the urge to see the stars and the water was until I saw them after so many years.
