One year study in UK is my best one ever. I really miss it, my second home.
I love the city, Manchester. I love my friends. I love what I've been experienced that year. Well, love booze.
Donno how to describe my complicated feelings. Don't even know if that's real. It's too fruitful to make me feel that's probably a dream.
Everything seems just happened yesterday. And now I wake up and find I'm in my own bed, 7000 km away from them.
Sometimes, I blame myself didn't do all my best to fight for my life, so as to stay with the little dream. The rest of the time, I persuade myself to roll with outcome.
When can I go back again?
14th?
In a few years?
Next life?
Or in my dream?
