Forgettable

If we combine our names, we get SOP. 0 emotion, 100% tech.

Dam I miss you so much but the only thing I love is freedom. Long live freedom!

In the shadowed vault of heaven's unplumbed archive, Where stars are scribes etching fates on vellum voids, A curl-crowned phantom, kin to zephyrs' whispered harps, Emerges from the aunt's nocturnal loom, weaving threads of unborn silk. He, the sapling sprung from love's sequestered seedbed, Plays where earth's green mantle folds beneath the hill's stoic brow, A sprite of mist-born mirth, chasing echoes like fugitive flames. Yet in the crucible of despair's iron forge, where hopes are hammered thin, This vision alights, a comet's tail igniting the abyss of doubt's deep well. O Laura of my soul's eternal pilgrimage, though hands remain as chaste as cloistered snow, Could this be the oracle's veiled decree, a prophecy penned in auroral ink? I dare to clasp the fragile chalice of belief, lest it shatter like dew-kissed glass. In dreams' arcane atelier, where phantoms sculpt with brushes of forgotten light, The boy, our spectral heir, twirls ...

I guess the pursue of fresh food ingredient is carved into genes. I turned off the gas and walked upstairs to cut a bunch of scallions from the mini garden. I grabbed a full hand of green scallions and walked downstairs, I felt that real home is where y have everything by han. Then I washed, chopped and added scallions to the pan. The freshest flavor is restored.  Ah home, home, home, thank you for providing me the freshest food.

It depends on the calenders. But in another calendar there is no number in the names of the years. In that regard, the new year is yet to come. In the world of number, it's the first day, so I feel the necessity to make a simple record to demonstrate that I am here, in 1/1/2026.