Una descuidada, pero suertuda mente suicida
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- Parts 1
-¡Estoy harta de esta vida! -Dije gritándole a mí madre desde la ventana de nuestro ático (antes de nuestro ático hay 7 pisos) -¡quiero morirme!
-¡Miley baja de ahi!
-¡No me da la gana!
Me tiré de cabeza al precipicio por mala o buena suerte caí en brazos de un chico. Un chico perfecto. Noté un escalofrío recorriendome el cuerpo entero.
-¿Desde cuando llueven ángeles? -dijo aquel chico.
-Desde que tienen una mente suicida.
-dije yo, como siempre, fría. -Me llamo Miley Smith, ¿y tu?
-Encantado, yo me llamo George Tomson.
-este chico tiene algo que me gusta, nose sí es su sonrisa, o su felicidad.
-¿Me podrías dejar en el suelo, por favor?-como no, yo y mi frialdad.
-Claro. -dijo él, no puedo recordar bien su nombre era... Yorch?
-Y como es que te has caído del cielo "Mi ángel de la guarda"?
------------------
Bueeeno aquí mi nove cn imaginación. Esta si la podre seguir porque me identifico más. Si, adoro el nombre George (se pronuncia Yorch).
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