The long wall is an opaque mirror, and hands do not reach the other side. Slowly the mist is mitigated and there is only despair, of having life and have felt the structure collapsed almost overnight, reaching a foundation filled with gunpowder, in which we can no longer grow anything.
With that you were, the world would be meaningless. There would be pain and joy, not a dull puncture in the wrist, the steady pulse of a green bruise surrounding a red dot and clear. I lost my future, in every way, and I did not want, did not want. I can not make the Masters because I did not graduate, just for that subject that has taken away the penalty, did not enter the language school, or in the language services of the university. Time pasa. Wait. Just wait. The wait always hurts when you know nothing good will not fall this twisted tree with rotten roots and the trunk opening, it's me.
I know that nobody will come after me, no matter at least, yet I keep opening the window for the sun to wake the little white princess, because maybe it's the only one who gets to feel something.
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