I had been alive since fourteen years ago,
I had made up memories from all that time,
sad memories,
angry memories,
happy memories,
fourteen years...
such a short time compared to lots of persons,
but what I can assure is that I had made lots of sad memories,
but I didn't end myself with a knife in my neck,
I ended up with a knife in my hand,
tearing apart,
that momment was the biggest decision of my life,
whether live
or die.
I chose life,
I though about others' feelings,
not about myself.
After some years,
I had forgotten that,
and decided to start from zero,
and made up new memories,
but they weren't sad memories anymore,
they were happy memories,
memories of myself laughing wiht others,
myself smiling.
And when time has come,
and I see everyone dissapearing
going into the mist,
and when sad comes,
my memories will be...
my shelter.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem