For the first time in a long time I cry for my life, not the lives of my characters. It's sad to admit, which is why I cry even more, that I'd rather live in the world of imagination than live in my sad, devastated life. I'd rather be a princess, a witch or any other character of my choice than the sad, lonely girl who fights for lost causes, who gets emotional when she hears a sad song or when she sees a movie with a happy ending. The perfect girl for friends, the black sheep of the family, the weird girl at school, and for enemies, nothing. A nothing that, at times, is much more than everything. I let the tears run silently down my face. I don't try to force them to stop, because I know they will beat me. That way I save a little energy by not making a useless effort that will not add anything to my existence. Tears are like a very strong breath of wind: they make you dizzy for a few moments as they fall, and then, when they stop, you feel good, renewed, ready to fight, until the cycle starts again and the tears come warm. and wet. Tears come out of me and with them goes the sadness of the moment. When I stop crying, I feel my eyes burn, I look at myself in the mirror and I see red, swollen eyes, as if they were blazing in eternal fire asking for revenge, begging for some of their suffering to be transferred to other eyes, someone else's eyes, person who caused your pain. I think about this possibility for a moment, but then I discard the idea. The eyes look at me through the mirror, begging for their thirst for revenge to be heard, but I simply turn around and wash my face with cold water, I look back into the mirror, but my water-flooded eyes can no longer see the reflection of the girl watching over them. Sad girl who just lost her mother. I dry my face with the soft, dry towel, thinking about the damn accident that took my mom away from me… so far away. I lower my eyes and see my scratched hands, I look again at my face reflected in the mirror, there are also scratches, bruises, deep cuts, all memories of a recent past, but that I wish I had forgotten. I leave the bathroom and go to my room. I open the door and see the place where I lived happy and sad moments, where I had fights and reconciliations. I look around, everything is so different!, the bags on the bed, ready. The light enters through the open window, it illuminates the place where I will miss, but which I will no longer be able to visit, because if I return, there will be no one waiting for me, the house will be cold and empty, probably musty, and with the smell of homesickness in the air. Tears start to well up in my eyes again, damn tireless tears, I'll never get rid of them, even though I fight to repel them with all the strength I have left. I hear a door open and then close with a thud. I don't move, I don't think, I just look at nothing. I feel someone behind me and then I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders. I sigh at the familiar but long forgotten touch. I turn and hug my dad, let the tears spill over his shoulder. He strokes my back and my hair, then whispers in my ear, as if he's afraid the wind will carry his words through the streets: -- Calm down, baby. It's okay now, I'm with you! Yes, you're with me, but is that enough? I think. I just shake my head, agreeing with him, but I don't know how to answer the question that came to my mind, because only time could answer it.