7.

Now that I've found myself talking in each corner of my house, alone, to nobody but myself, my soul desperate to find proofs that what I've been through this couple of months before this is true, the american life, the american dream everybody ask me about, stuff that I want to mark and remark, things that I want to keep; now I know: I am blind, confused and confused again, fearing my own madness, my emptiness that never leaved me, the solitude always abandoned. screw all the feeling I must have in here, talking alone all the time makes me fall apart down the walls, a lousyness that makes me remember my childhood times when I was empty too, without knowing it. Because here, I don't have you. Here I can't hold on, not without you holding me. Here, there's no empty parking lots, here there's no Panera Bread, here there's no Macys to fear. Here is no answear to all the questions I've been questing for, and now the tear is sign that not now, not tomorrow or in fifty years you will belong to me the way you use to. What kind of sister leaves forever?