This is a fake story, all fake. It might be a little sad but that's how it is.
--
I've always wanted a house, a house by myself. Only. Myself.
I've dreamt about it for years. And now... I regret it. I regret for wishing myself a house.
Lord, I know I did something wrong.
Please
Forgive
Me
--
So it was five years ago. That time I was still a teenager, 15 years old.
My friends were all rich and had their own mansion, or - house.
So, I wished for one, too. I dreamt about how wonderful will it be to live by your own, how amazing to share your own bedroom.
Wish yourself.
I've always wanted one. But it never happened, I didn't tell my parents of this thought, I didn't tell anyone.
I was even mad at my parents for not letting me live by my own.
But I was wrong.
I was definitely wrong.
And my mother died when I was 17.
