film did for us. The film was on the canvas of the book, written by someone they know. The book was a rather banal piece talking about four weeks in a town where grew up and most were flawless image. Have classified it as fiction, but apart from a few details did not differ whether or not our names, which remained unchanged, nor contained in it, nothing would have happened. For example, I really was a show of a film's last-gasp one January afternoon in a bedroom in Warsaw, agrees, I went to the balcony looking at a tower - a symbol of the city, where the author tried to comfort me, that screams of tortured children were fake, but he said it, smiling, and I had to turn away. Other examples: My then-boyfriend drove deer actually located somewhere in the later surrounding landscape park, as well as Christmas dinner with my family that the next few weeks I tried to relieve complaining was faithfully restored. A twelve year old boy really was brutally murdered - it was in a hotel room, who visited the accident along with the author, who noted only a slight reluctance on my part and he could not describe what I felt that night - shock, disgust, and very scared the writer, and closed the fair-haired boy himself, whose boyfriend, with whom you are dating then, he was staring and, in its own way, love. But the writer could not have ever council reciprocate his feelings, he was too lost in his passivity to make such contact, which he needed, so the man turned to me, but then it was too late, and the writer was indignant that the requested it to me because I was nice and befuddled narrator, incapable of love and kindness. So I became a bar area which damaged hyena pierced by wrakowisko, peeing blood from my nose, asking questions that have never require answers. So I became the girl who does not understand how anything works. So I became the girl who does not ocaliłaby friend. So I became the girl that she could not love a boy.
0 comments:
Post a Comment