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ForgottenYou come knocking at my doorLike an old friendI thought you've forgotten me finallyBecause almost, I've forgotten youBut here you are againSuddenlyYou race with the windsAnd your voice fights with thunderI am helpless as you accompany meYou move into me like the falling waterBut why, I do not understandHave you come for me againSadness, when will I be forgotten?
Nothing Changes NothingEveryday since she was 19, she wrote questions that popped into her mind on little pieces of paper. (sometimes, in little paper towels, purchase receipts, bus ride tickets, or whichever was available) After a time of doing this, she started bothering to buy post-it pads because she hated it when she has a question to ask but has got nowhere to write it onto. She usually bought 3 50-sheet post-it pads which she had to replenish in a week or so.She asked all sorts of random questions. Some whose answers are too obvious, some are rhetorical, some pointless, some stupid. To her, all questions were valid."What did you have for breakfast?""What is another word for silence?"She had her personal legend for asking questions. For the pointless and stupid questions, she wrote them in larger pieces of post-it's. She always thought that stupid questions are ironically easier to answer. She also knew that pointless questions usually interest more people.For harder questions though, those she ca