Where’s home

Where’s home
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I vaguely remember a friend in the past who used to say,
“When I was walking on the street of London, I didn’t know where my home was;
When I was walking on the street of Toronto, I didn’t know where my home was;
When I am walking on the street of Shanghai, I don’t know where my home is.
It seems I don’t belong to anywhere and none of them has anything to do with me.”
When I was in Shanghai, he sometimes called at wee hours their time with a drunk voice telling me,
“I have everything; I have a car but nobody is sitting beside.”
“I’m working to death.”
“I will sell out my last pair of shorts, go back to China and never come back.”
I felt chilly at that time already.
I thought we were listening too much to Jiang Yuheng’s songs
and loneliness became a fashionable topic.
Now I know what it is; I call it as being “untouched”.
Love is lonely, being loveless is lonely and being untouched is super lonely.





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