Algunas veces tenemos que tocar fondo para volver a la vida, para resucitar.
5 April 09, 2020, 07:44 0~ Somewhere on the hill, I was alive. Somewhere in the yellow house with the crooked door, I did survive. Somewhere on the walls are my crayon drawings, hidden behind a shelf. Somewhere in the halls, I was twelve. I was nine. I was four. And somewhere in that very house my tears did pour. I was two, I was one, I didn't realize what my parents had become. I was non-existent, when my parents were persistent, they wanted a house. A yellow one. And raise two kids loved by everyone But themselves. ~
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