I'm writing this blog in English, cuz I don't think he'll understand any Chinese. And as the first and last time I speak to him, I want him to hear me loud and clear.

For the past few days, the entire planet has been talking about your death. You know, when the morning I heard it from my mom, I didn't feel anything, as if it's just another piece of trashy entertainment gossip that I'll forget in a minute. Then I read some newspaper on a plane and learned about a whole lot I didn't know about you. Some of them were good and some were bad. All that could remind me is how the record companies could rip people off once again by digging out your old albums and selling to billions of ignorant people who never knew who you were exactly, just as how they did to every single one of the deceased stars. I still didn't feel a thing.

Then tonight when I browsed thro

北京的寒刮面，上海的寒冰心。城市的路面潮湿得浮着一层水汽，升腾了几尺幻为淡淡的烟，迟缓地在空气中凝住，像一块无比巨大的冰层中条条的纹理，直到有车马或行人从中穿过，条理随之紊乱而瞬息过后又好似什么都没有发生过。屋里的空调肆意地喷吐出股股暖风，温热来势汹汹，但却像昙花的凋落，不经意就被寒气张开那透明的大嘴一丝一丝地吞噬，但暖风临终前那恐惧和绝望的脸是如此清晰，清晰到无法想象，撼人魂魄。几秒钟。

诚我。成我。负我。覆我。

Time is miraculous. So miraculous that I strongly recommend that you don't think about it, cos you will fall, fall, and fall into a blackhole. A blackhole that fuses the past, the present and the future. In there, you exist in the form