Life passes in the blink of an eye, and you are surprised that you have become thirty-five years old and have not achieved any of your dreams. You are - without a doubt - as soft as a wet rag. You wish to lose memory at all costs, you wish to be able to forget the pain, you wish to return to life as if you were born again, but unfortunately this is a dream too beautiful to come true... You wish death every day, every hour, every moment; You don't find it and you don't know why you want it, perhaps because death is the fear of the happy and the lust of the unhappy.. Perhaps, but there is no doubt that you are as soft as a wet rag, you have long believed that happy days end quickly, and that nothing lasts; Friends leave, father and mother, grandfather and grandmother die, beloved betrays, and the tragedy is that we are still alive!
