I was a cheap novel. No, even a bad literature had a reality. Even their boring imitations were real to me. I was gone; I wasn't even there, I couldn't say I wasn't. Even words did not want to identify me by coming together.
What if I had words too. If it was a sentence of my own, a thought. If at least one of the millions of words that have been said for thousands of years has included me!
There was no sentence that belonged to us, who had not accepted any book of us, had not received any mention of us. Who would have taken the wreckage that even your books would not accept?
No one has already taken us, as a young war, we took our place in cold paving stones. If no one took us, since no one wanted us, we also received loneliness. I'm assuming we're pretty low, I realized we were too crowded to be alone.
Every day we noticed that our seats were full. We were taking quick steps towards becoming a crowded audience. The game played on stage will be attracted to the interest that the tickets are running out. What were these people coming to watch?
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