slowly, leaving everything, I do not want to think about my. There are people who surround to me, but nonencounter very variant things since I exist. The pain and the happiness are not different things, not in my world. With time I have learned of the others, some of which they have done to me hard by means of its weaknesses. Sometimes I reprimand myself being. I believe that I am not anybody for anybody and often I have wanted to regret to me to try to be it. There are things that I do not create to reach, the doubt and the anguish each invades my head you see that they want to try things that go outside my, I cannot escape of my same one. I cross the memories that are moved away, still the sadness accompanies to me and to think that algun day was born my happiness, but nobody wanted to see it and for that reason it died, also I was the guilty because I did not want to show it. Sigh when remembering things that a day I had now and do not exist.
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