ete hit the ground, when I held her unconscious body in my arms, running feverishly among those demons screaming mad that because the war, because the Führer, that because Shambala, when at last he wounds healed myself, hidden in this department too small for two or three or how many were actually, I thought the madness was over and we were now free. I thought that once and for all, would have understood the truth (He who struck so literally against the wall right!), He would not seek the impossible, sosegaría and admit that things are. I even thought (and maybe I was wrong) that those feelings for me that I keep inside guessed would come to lightsincerity they deserved from the beginning. But I learned that if one's mind in the future may look simple, it is sheer lack of creativity. -Both, therefore, Al ...
(and I sit down on the threadbare carpet, meeting mysterious fantasies, corrupting the memory of your beloved brother, slowly unbuttoning clothes) "Edward, I ... (smiled condescendingly Poor !)
"No need to call me ... (I bit my lip, pierced party favors for your shame, yes, punched over and over again until I became a huge hole, a big, huge and useless piece of air ) "No, please ... let me call you ... and you call me ... call me ...
Alfons (put your face do not understandr, surprise, confusion, ever forgotten that not all function like you inside, I had to kiss me, now, to save hundreds of nonsense that you intended stammering) contradicted the first few days. It was not in my mind the possibility that he was serious, I had even imagined a funeral! Grabbing my arm and asking
Why are you crying, Al? Tell me and I as before, tell me like before ...
. And so, endless nights, until one morning I took breakfast in bed and I said hello. Good morning, niisan.
-A-Al, Do you really want ---? "Please ... just do it ...
(I undressed, trying not to say to myself: Whofor him, Alfons was dead. For him, had traveled to Shambala in my faulty rocket, was brought back to his younger brother, had moved into an apartment in the suburbs. And I, I had to be at to acknowledge my existence, I also had to pretend to pretend, pretend it was none other than me, pretending that she loved him as another person and that he loved another, not me. However, not even. Not even being submissive to fate could earn my happiness. That night, the one year anniversary of my death, I felt tired. There was no reason to lie and not lie. There was no pity in my actions, then, Who was giving me the grace? Not me, no doubt. What it be diminished in terror suddenly find your
