I'm still sick.
I never imagined my recent unrequited love would give me
this damage. My age is certainly affecting me. When I was young
I was more arrogant. Even if I was in a pit of grief, I knew I might
be able to stand up again and break new ground, at least unconciously.
Now I know I do not have much future. I cannot imagine myself
staggering with week knees, or unable to hold a woman with substantial
passion. I'll surely kill myself before these dismal prospects reveal.
I do not know how many years I can survive under this unrequited
Many people try to leave something before they die, something that
may prove their lives have had some meaning.
Perhaps I have one thing worthwhile to leave behind. I feel I should
write a book regarding practical techniques about making documentary
films, a theory I have established taking more than 10 years.
But I do not have much passion for it.
Before that, I need her, my love.