Started editing the first draft of my first books of poems. Still untitled. It is painful to read one’s own poems again and again, but I like how they are growing, whichever ones can grow. That’s the joyful part of it, the only joyful part of it. There’s always more to add. I will go on until I can’t anymore. That will be a good time to stop. I will know when that time comes. As of now, I am still sitting outside, under a clear starry sky. It is almost midnight. The wind is amazing, refreshing. The trees half asleep, few more men sitting outside, outside but far away from me. Everything in this moment is beautiful. I am glad I could witness this beauty.
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