The search for an idea, a prototype of life I dreamed of, which I thought perfect for me and it was in my hand, thought it was ideal, but it was only for me, because I stopped to ask what your dream? What do you want in life?
thought to be on the right track and I ran, I got up, in a display of inner strength that I presume always have when I am strong (but what if I am not so?) And returned to trip, this time even more spectacularly, the ability to get up is slower and placebo means "I feel full" is fleeting and momentary, because I still lick the wounds that refuse to heal, or maybe I am, that I gently crack them again to bleed, because the thought of being cured, is thinking that got forgotten and I would not, I cling to the past, I'm afraid to leave behind.
Lei a statement that said: "How much we enjoy what little we have and how much we suffer so much that we long wrong."
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