Sometimes I think about how they will be others, how things feel, how they internalize their successes, how they overcome the agony of second, how to digest What do I have events for a simple sprain, a small physical disorder, unimportant, Shifting me and thus revolutionize the whole world map of my senses? What happened to me? The mirror does not know, do not answer.
should be a woman, my androgynous appearance and my feelings so different, I think, of those who are men, do not match what I encounter in the other. However, I believe that if more women would feel about the possibility of being happy. No wonder, therefore, shy away from male and attract me with boundless fascination and female. Obviously if a woman would be a lesbian, and surely if it were also be a victim of my own Do not you?
As I brush my teeth I think about making a plan of this house where I have a rented room and a list of persons to be eliminated. Should take a square and a bevel and make a perfect plan of this house. But no. Everything you write is readable. If the police, or any interested observer discovers a plane, made by me, he will ask Why did a plane? What interest did he have? With regard to the list, black is the same. If I write and I have forgotten or lost, which may hold clues to read. No. Everything must be kept inside of me. Nobody knows anything I do not want to be known. Nobody knows me something to go against me.
My leanness, my black hair tangled, my height, my thin hands with pianist fingers, my chest with almost no hair, my eyes black as anthracite, white teeth and my care, my disappointment and ironic smile, make me a person difficult to categorize. Who falls ill people, almost all people, is normal or at least I'm used to. My broken foot gives me the opportunity to take stock of my life and I will use a good deal of thought and future action. I can not spend the rest of my life carrying this cross on my way to Golgotha, his forehead bloodied and hurt by this sort of crown of thorns that pierce me like burning coals of oak.
My eyes look like headlights and unique transmitted light is light from darkness, strangeness and interrogation. My eyes hurt because it reflects more clearly, my soul.
rang the doorbell of the house and as I could, on one leg, I went to the peephole. Is Mr Alonso. Has been and I doubt whether open or make me deaf. I open the door and I tell you that I see. I have already seen that the foot and knee bandaged, with a large swelling and fingers sticking out after the band, medium purple. I say, this gentleman who came to see me, you already have enough to confirm that I have a sprain. I ask, please invite him to come, who wants to talk to me. Passes and told him my rented room. He offers to take my arm and support me but I prefer denial and defend itself. He peers through the window and watching the scenery is second, he was surprised to see the removal from the sixth floor. She turns and stares at me. The bed is stirred and sit on the chair with wheels that I use in my office. It's something bigger than me. You must be over forty. Razor cut hair, nice suit, nice tie and black dial watch and several small sphere. A Festina. I had no idea you had this house. I'm surprised that you have ordered it.
Where would I stole the knife as a child? Why not buy the gun to the pilot of Alitalia? Where I have the butcher's ax?
Where would I stole the knife as a child? Why not buy the gun to the pilot of Alitalia? Where I have the butcher's ax?
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