Prolouge
There is that special person in your life. tu know, the guy tu despise; of who tu do nothing rater then twist the neck of; who drives tu to insanity; who bus tu like hell just por being near; who makes your fingers itch after to puñetazo, ponche him. That guy who tu must fight with every muscle in your body not to beat up.
No, I’m not talking about your overprotective big brother o your oh-so-annoying little brother, both who tu really truly love. No, I’m talking about the guy tu are, whether tu like it o not, thinking about twenty-four hours a día árbol hundred and sixty-five days a year.
The “smirking-his-annoying-smile-at-you-in-class-refusses-to-live-you-alone-does-everything-to-bug-you”-kind of guy. The guy who makes your blood boil and tu cheeks burn, who tu really desire to hit with something hard. The guy you’ve been complaining on with your friends a billion times and who fill every page of your diary with his stupid acting.
The cocky, good-looking, sooo sexy guy with his enchanting eyes and messy hair who everybody loves, everybody but you. Who picks on tu for all those horrible things that makes tu feel bad which, weird enough, makes tu feel better. He who seem to know exactly what tu think and can make tu do an-y-thing just through saying tu can’t, are to muck goody-goody o are too scared to do it. The guy tu called every ugly name that’s ever been hear. And a few more.
New fact: This guy is very important person. I’m talking “turning-you-world-upside-down –your-life-will-never-be-the-same-again” –important. Believe me I know. I didn’t know what those guy meant to me until I almost lost him. o actually lost him. Well, really he lost me. Not that I’d known it. I had a hole in my corazón for many years without knowing about it. When we met again it started to heal and I realized that there wasn’t a person I hated más in my life than him, o a person I risk más to keep alive.
While talking about alive. What do tu guys thin happed after death. And don’t say “I don’t know” tu all have a theory tu all wonder about a lot. Way too much actually.
Hot tip. Live while tu can and don’t worry too much about death. Because sooner o later your dead and then you’ll have plenty of time to figure out what’s going on. I should know I’ve died seven times.
I died the twenty-first of October 1891 on my nineteenth birthday. Every time I’ve died I’ve died on my birthday. On my nineteenth birthday. tu think that when seven different girls dies on there nineteenth birthday, who just happened to be on the same día por the way, with around twenty years between each would wake some attention. But noo, everyone’s to crushed about the tragedy of a young girl with her whole life up a head who died on her birthday. Sigh, Idiots.
There is that special person in your life. tu know, the guy tu despise; of who tu do nothing rater then twist the neck of; who drives tu to insanity; who bus tu like hell just por being near; who makes your fingers itch after to puñetazo, ponche him. That guy who tu must fight with every muscle in your body not to beat up.
No, I’m not talking about your overprotective big brother o your oh-so-annoying little brother, both who tu really truly love. No, I’m talking about the guy tu are, whether tu like it o not, thinking about twenty-four hours a día árbol hundred and sixty-five days a year.
The “smirking-his-annoying-smile-at-you-in-class-refusses-to-live-you-alone-does-everything-to-bug-you”-kind of guy. The guy who makes your blood boil and tu cheeks burn, who tu really desire to hit with something hard. The guy you’ve been complaining on with your friends a billion times and who fill every page of your diary with his stupid acting.
The cocky, good-looking, sooo sexy guy with his enchanting eyes and messy hair who everybody loves, everybody but you. Who picks on tu for all those horrible things that makes tu feel bad which, weird enough, makes tu feel better. He who seem to know exactly what tu think and can make tu do an-y-thing just through saying tu can’t, are to muck goody-goody o are too scared to do it. The guy tu called every ugly name that’s ever been hear. And a few more.
New fact: This guy is very important person. I’m talking “turning-you-world-upside-down –your-life-will-never-be-the-same-again” –important. Believe me I know. I didn’t know what those guy meant to me until I almost lost him. o actually lost him. Well, really he lost me. Not that I’d known it. I had a hole in my corazón for many years without knowing about it. When we met again it started to heal and I realized that there wasn’t a person I hated más in my life than him, o a person I risk más to keep alive.
While talking about alive. What do tu guys thin happed after death. And don’t say “I don’t know” tu all have a theory tu all wonder about a lot. Way too much actually.
Hot tip. Live while tu can and don’t worry too much about death. Because sooner o later your dead and then you’ll have plenty of time to figure out what’s going on. I should know I’ve died seven times.
I died the twenty-first of October 1891 on my nineteenth birthday. Every time I’ve died I’ve died on my birthday. On my nineteenth birthday. tu think that when seven different girls dies on there nineteenth birthday, who just happened to be on the same día por the way, with around twenty years between each would wake some attention. But noo, everyone’s to crushed about the tragedy of a young girl with her whole life up a head who died on her birthday. Sigh, Idiots.