Mai 2007
Te rog înţelege că când am scriut-o, am suferit mult. Depresiunea mea şi mutismul meu au fost mai sever, y mă înconjură colegi de clasa (care ORICE se comportează ca vârsta lor!), "prietenii" mei mi-au arătat culorile lor adevăratile, am fost necazi financiari, y eu am fost mai probleme care nu voi discuta aici... îmi pare rau ca aceasta pieză e foarte deprimată.
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.