You gave birth to me but abandoned me.
I grew up with a feeling that the more I miss you, the more I complain, the more I hate you.
I said, I will never be you.
However, I always remember what you said, even if it was the clues in the letter.
You said I was born to be a writer.
I have been slow to face my abilities because of my doubts about you.
And because of your affirmation that I want to be a writer.
This unknowing contradiction has always remained in my heart.
until you come back to me.
Your depression and obviously vain boasting have disappointed me. On the one hand, I hold
some of the most primitive hopes in the face of you who I haven't seen for so long,
hoping that maybe you can bring the sunshine in my heart; I am more and more convinced that I do not want to be you. However, the more you resist, the more people around you say that I am like you? In a dream, in reality, how could I be you? What is the opportunity? When I read what you called "a masterpiece" that you gave me, I slowly let go. It let me know the real you and what kind of situation you are in now? I forgive and accept everything. I would like to finish the beginning before you got sick, even in your name. This time, why not let me be you? This is what I, as your son, should do. What you have not completed, in your lifetime, let you see that I have completed it for you. This is my mission, and I hope to be your pride.
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