We could not say the victory of perseverance. Our family history has ruined the golden letters of engraved name to make us suffer. It was a November day, thirteen, four in the evening. He called out to my daughter that my daughter came quickly. She had stripped of her last meal. I went to my room. I was drowning in them. The preparation was finished and the bloody high school had begun.
It's impossible to concentrate. I didn't know what a failure meant until then, and I was stumbling upon it - and then I realized that it was in our real success experience.
My mother was stood up to the spoon, and the big woman standing like the mountain in my eyes, was making a sound like a moaning throat, then a wheezing and the hour was 18:25. I had his hand on my father's shoulder. And my father was in tears. I do not understand. It was like a poem that would never come out of my memory after the year. Have you ever cried my mother died, I died once.
He ran for the phone, so I was a five-year-old girl who had stuck his leg before the funeral of my dead child. He called my aunt first. We said we lost, he said he could not. But you did something like that, Daddy. The loss is often the most difficult word for me in my blood. I'm still a bit scared.
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