My name is Alice Góis.

This is what something translated from a neolatin language looks like.

Those who have dreams leave too soon.
Those who wish to die live a long life.
Lovers do not end up together; but neither do they move on.
Those who are loved feel empty.
Those who long for love remain lonely.
Cruel ironies pile up in an unbroken chain.

If there is a God, He is no different than a writer.