Oh lord, It is killing me.
that despicable feeling, the fear of being left behind, another black and white photograph hanged on that yellow empty part of the wall. Unnoticed, dusty over time, untouchable.
whether a friend a lover or even a stranger, never let them get the best of you. My grandmother used to tell me, whenever you think that happiness is with a person, leave him before he leaves you. I remember her stories , her smiles that were tears before but it cold stoned her heart, helpless she became, all what is left of her are her stories, with that cold stone smile. He used to hit her I know, she knows …even he knows.
I remember the times I saw the best of my friends hurt, broken, even shuttered to pieces. God they were too young, even I. I thought I was different, I forced my pride…
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