I have a deep affection for myself, yes. Thus, reading the friend Nikita, I remember those few months when I was racing the train you. I arranged for you ahead a few meters to the exit, hoping that you so laboriously see me and you call me. It was a way to let you choose. Let you choose, always, when Pinochet imitated the phone, so you can think of least pretend to believe, that everything would remain much lighter than your daily wanderings would dull my what? Come together: my hopes. But I never had that strength of character, and I waited, letters, visits, emails, calls. I waited in wishing you all the unhappiness of the world, since we all liked the girls lost. And it is true that it was not love, because you do not wish misfortune girls unfortunate that claims to love. That, among other things, what makes me an individual in the mass, which does not worth more than another. That is why I have a deep affection for me. Because he should not expect, and that I did.
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