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Me, myself and I

             Me, myself and I, what could this mean? One night I was looking straight at the stars. They’re quiet; it is weird because they always tend to talk to me. The moon looks at me, but she doesn’t say anything. What is happening? Am I not interesting to them anymore? I dislike this situation; I want to talk to them, I want them to be my secret-holders. .
             I hear noises close to where I’m laying down. There are people playing, but I don’t seem to know them. I even doubt to know myself. I punched the wall hard; blood comes out of my hand. I released all my anger with that punch, but I don’t feel any better. I’m mad at my father, and at me.
             That afternoon, my father and I were alone in my house. He was told that I was doing things I shouldn’t be doing. They were all lies, but he didn’t believe me. He didn’t believe in his daughter, in the person that he said he trusted and loved. My father didn’t even let me talk about it; he cared less about what I had to say. He didn’t hit me, but his words were more painful than what his hands could have been.
             I ran to my bedroom, where I stayed the whole night looking out the window. I was a hurt girl without a God, breaking apart my pain. I looked at the moon again and realized I could do more, that I wasn’t like the moon that is the night’s slave. I was not giving up; I didn’t accept losing because I’m like a hurricane filled of passion for what it does. If in that moment I had my own world, it was because I needed it. .
             I went to his bedroom. I was in front of him in that dark room where he slept. I tried to speak; no words came out of my mouth because it didn’t matter how hard I try to explain this to him, he won’t get it. He just couldn’t swim in my sea of illusions.