MY YOUTH IS OURS EnglishVersion

MELODRAMA

If anyone there knows how I managed to experience that dinner without falling the ground, please contact me.

We can get along to write a Best-Seller self-help for stolen, which is what's trendy lately.

I will be a great coach on how to jump the artesian well of an idea as absurd as a rope in the neck. And get out alive on the other side of the Earth Globe.

In fact... The well and the rope are holding hands.

Holding hands with me and the drama this past week too.

Why the hell did I have to ask myself to go there knowing the risk I was taking?

I could have tried to kiss him while we were in his room security. The Lady would have knocked before came in and avoided any damage.

But no!

I needed to create the worst first impression in the history of the worst first impressions.

During the whole meal, the only thing I thought about was if it had been Pax. I'd have my head trapped inside the hot oven and my parents would never see me alive again.

I'm running along drama and I haven't even gotten home yet.

(...)

Analyzing it better, it sounded like he was the one who set the trap for me.

All afternoon acting that way, helpful and intuitive, because I feel that the more friends we get, the more he knows exactly how to act to make me lose my mind.

He's completely clueless abt danger and he shoots everywhere. I don't know if this is his personality or I'm the Freak in the story.

I don't want to believe he'd throw a glass jar with the look of his mother's fave just to get it hold it, hold him. Or would he?

He wanted to pick me up too, didn't he?

I mean... Kiss me.

He didn't seem tense in any particle whatsoever.

His actions are surprising in the intent to capture me. And coldly methodically to confusing me.

I wish I had more time to appreciate the mere fact of being in his room and, until I solved this dilemma, I will keep asking myself if he would have accepted the kiss if we were there alone in the room.

OK... I'm going to spend a "nice" time thinking about that room. It's a sweeter memory than the one lived in the kitchen.

Now I'm coming home trying not to make any noise. Flawed. ' Cause my mom's in the living room watching TV.

After talking to her, I'm going to my own room to reflect.

I still had to hear from her that I acted grossly for having visited a family's house on a Monday night when everyone is tired and needs to wake up early the next day.

She didn't talk like a sermon. She was affectionate as always. But my nerves made me turn into a last drop of tension allied to the previous ones.

(...)

Tuesday

I slept like a dog waiting for the owner, but I'm here again.

Just one more day at the workshop.

Not the expectation.

I tried to get there early. Just to fall off the horse.

He didn't come.