When Charles Bukowski said, I don't like anything, I guess he meant he doesn't like me.

I am aware that this is way too much narcissism. I am like that on good days, funny, arrogant, and intelligent and then I talk about how beautiful movies are.

Especially the ones I watched with you, there is something about those memories, it's like you see a rainbow and you love it so much that it starts appearing every day, or a sticky note that you left on your wall and you resist to taking it out,

the wall isn't going anywhere, nor is your handwriting, nor are these memories.

You see on bad days I don't like these memories, I wish to paint my walls and never look at the sky, I shut my TV like someone would hear the sound and would want to talk to me, I am going to hate that as well. I am not even going to eat the mangoes you sent from your dad's farm, plus I'm avoiding milkshakes too.

Is it Bukowski?

Did he not like me, does he always not like things or is it just good and bad days?

I like mangoes though, I love the idea of mangos, I had a milkshake in the morning, probably at 2 am.

I was reading something and didn't like it, like most things. It's not some writer from the past, it's you.