Prolouge
There is that special person in your life. You know, the guy you despise; of who you do nothing rater then twist the neck of; who drives you to insanity; who bus you like hell just by being near; who makes your fingers itch after to punch him. That guy who you must fight with every muscle in your body not to beat up.
No, I’m not talking about your overprotective big brother or your oh-so-annoying little brother, both who you really truly love. No, I’m talking about the guy you are, whether you like it or not, thinking about twenty-four hours a day tree 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 you cheeks burn, who you 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 you for all those horrible things that makes you feel bad which, weird enough, makes you feel better. He who seem to know exactly what you think and can make you do an-y-thing just through saying you can’t, are to muck goody-goody or are too scared to do it. The guy you 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. Or actually lost him. Well, really he lost me. Not that I’d known it. I had a hole in my heart 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 more in my life than him, or a person I risk more to keep alive.
While talking about alive. What do you guys thin happed after death. And don’t say “I don’t know” you all have a theory you all wonder about a lot. Way too much actually.
Hot tip. Live while you can and don’t worry too much about death. Because sooner or 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. You think that when seven different girls dies on there nineteenth birthday, who just happened to be on the same day by 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. You know, the guy you despise; of who you do nothing rater then twist the neck of; who drives you to insanity; who bus you like hell just by being near; who makes your fingers itch after to punch him. That guy who you must fight with every muscle in your body not to beat up.
No, I’m not talking about your overprotective big brother or your oh-so-annoying little brother, both who you really truly love. No, I’m talking about the guy you are, whether you like it or not, thinking about twenty-four hours a day tree 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 you cheeks burn, who you 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 you for all those horrible things that makes you feel bad which, weird enough, makes you feel better. He who seem to know exactly what you think and can make you do an-y-thing just through saying you can’t, are to muck goody-goody or are too scared to do it. The guy you 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. Or actually lost him. Well, really he lost me. Not that I’d known it. I had a hole in my heart 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 more in my life than him, or a person I risk more to keep alive.
While talking about alive. What do you guys thin happed after death. And don’t say “I don’t know” you all have a theory you all wonder about a lot. Way too much actually.
Hot tip. Live while you can and don’t worry too much about death. Because sooner or 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. You think that when seven different girls dies on there nineteenth birthday, who just happened to be on the same day by 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.
