Prolouge
There is that special person in your life. te know, the guy te despise; of who te do nothing rater then twist the neck of; who drives te to insanity; who bus te like hell just da being near; who makes your fingers itch after to punch, punzone him. That guy who te 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 te really truly love. No, I’m talking about the guy te are, whether te like it o not, thinking about twenty-four hours a giorno albero 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 te cheeks burn, who te 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 te for all those horrible things that makes te feel bad which, weird enough, makes te feel better. He who seem to know exactly what te think and can make te do an-y-thing just through saying te can’t, are to muck goody-goody o are too scared to do it. The guy te 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 cuore 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 più in my life than him, o a person I risk più to keep alive.
While talking about alive. What do te guys thin happed after death. And don’t say “I don’t know” te all have a theory te all wonder about a lot. Way too much actually.
Hot tip. Live while te 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. te think that when seven different girls dies on there nineteenth birthday, who just happened to be on the same giorno da 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. te know, the guy te despise; of who te do nothing rater then twist the neck of; who drives te to insanity; who bus te like hell just da being near; who makes your fingers itch after to punch, punzone him. That guy who te 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 te really truly love. No, I’m talking about the guy te are, whether te like it o not, thinking about twenty-four hours a giorno albero 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 te cheeks burn, who te 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 te for all those horrible things that makes te feel bad which, weird enough, makes te feel better. He who seem to know exactly what te think and can make te do an-y-thing just through saying te can’t, are to muck goody-goody o are too scared to do it. The guy te 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 cuore 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 più in my life than him, o a person I risk più to keep alive.
While talking about alive. What do te guys thin happed after death. And don’t say “I don’t know” te all have a theory te all wonder about a lot. Way too much actually.
Hot tip. Live while te 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. te think that when seven different girls dies on there nineteenth birthday, who just happened to be on the same giorno da 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.
