What will die with me when I die? What
pathetic or frail form will the world lose? Perhaps the voice of Macedonio Fernandez, the image of a horse in the vacant space at Serrano and Charcas, a bar of sulfur in the drawer of a mahogany desk?
Jorge Luis Borges, THE WITNESS, 1967
Whenever I get gloomy or depressed of something, I think about his words.
What will be disapeared, if I die?
Accoding to him, a girl who like to drink a coffee, a girl who like to record something, a girl who really like to go southbank area....etc.
Alot of girl will be disapeared, so I feel like as if my existence is in everywhere.
In another words, I think every actions of people leave their own memory and trace in everywhere.
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