Mayo 2007
Hazme el favor de comprender que fui muy deprimida cuándo escribí esta. Mi depresión y mi mi mutismo estuvieron más severos, fui rodeada por mis compañeros de clase (que SIEMPRE comportaron de acuerdo a su edad), mis "amigos" me enseñaron sus colores verdaderos, tuvimos problemas de dinero, y más, que no voy a discutir aquí... lo siento que este trabajo es muy deprimente.
She is a tall, taciturn youth with a pale, indifferent face. She raises a long-fingered hand and twists a strand of straight, dark hair. Compliment her, and she will smile briefly. Tease her, and she will not react. Her face is without emotion. Her black1 eyes reveal nothing.
But behind those eyes of onyx is a soul. A soul, with her own feelings, her own memories and opinions, as unique as a fingerprint and as complex as the starry sky. A soul wise beyond her years, fragile beyond her eyes, compassionate beyond her sullen shrugs. She feels your pain.
She has learned idolatry, but has forgotten love. She has learned nepenthe, but has forgotten death. She has learned truth, but has forgotten reality.
She has learned the words, but has forgotten speech.