I hate that our memories consist of nothing but arguments. How much I wish to be with someone like you. I cursed at you; I wish I hadn’t. A few years have passed, and I wanted to test things out, but I found that I don’t know anyone else and I can’t stay with them. I become foolish. I can’t be serious. It’s always the same; the good ones go unnoticed, and when they’re lost, people regret it. They leave twice, and we forgive again, just to translate a bit of good life once more.

What if people like me had a good life? It's very hard; a person can be nothing.