Prolouge
There is that special person in your life. Du know, the guy Du despise; of who Du do nothing rater then twist the neck of; who drives Du to insanity; who bus Du like hell just Von being near; who makes your fingers itch after to schlagen, punsch him. That guy who Du must fight with every muscle in your body not to beat up.
No, I’m not talking about your overprotective big brother oder your oh-so-annoying little brother, both who Du really truly love. No, I’m talking about the guy Du are, whether Du like it oder not, thinking about twenty-four hours a Tag baum hundred and sixty-five days a year.
The “smirking-his-annoying-smile-at-you-in-class-refusses-to-live-you-alone-does-everything-to-bug-you”-kind of guy. The guy who makes your blood boil and Du cheeks burn, who Du really desire to hit with something hard. The guy you’ve been complaining on with your Friends a billion times and who fill every page of your diary with his stupid acting.
The cocky, good-looking, sooo sexy guy with his enchanting eyes and messy hair who everybody loves, everybody but you. Who picks on Du for all those horrible things that makes Du feel bad which, weird enough, makes Du feel better. He who seem to know exactly what Du think and can make Du do an-y-thing just through saying Du can’t, are to muck goody-goody oder are too scared to do it. The guy Du called every ugly name that’s ever been hear. And a few more.
New fact: This guy is very important person. I’m talking “turning-you-world-upside-down –your-life-will-never-be-the-same-again” –important. Believe me I know. I didn’t know what those guy meant to me until I almost Lost him. oder actually Lost him. Well, really he Lost me. Not that I’d known it. I had a hole in my herz for many years without knowing about it. When we met again it started to heal and I realized that there wasn’t a person I hated Mehr in my life than him, oder a person I risk Mehr to keep alive.
While talking about alive. What do Du guys thin happed after death. And don’t say “I don’t know” Du all have a theory Du all wonder about a lot. Way too much actually.
Hot tip. Live while Du can and don’t worry too much about death. Because sooner oder later your dead and then you’ll have plenty of time to figure out what’s going on. I should know I’ve died seven times.
I died the twenty-first of October 1891 on my nineteenth birthday. Every time I’ve died I’ve died on my birthday. On my nineteenth birthday. Du think that when seven different girls dies on there nineteenth birthday, who just happened to be on the same Tag Von the way, with around twenty years between each would wake some attention. But noo, everyone’s to crushed about the tragedy of a young girl with her whole life up a head who died on her birthday. Sigh, Idiots.
There is that special person in your life. Du know, the guy Du despise; of who Du do nothing rater then twist the neck of; who drives Du to insanity; who bus Du like hell just Von being near; who makes your fingers itch after to schlagen, punsch him. That guy who Du must fight with every muscle in your body not to beat up.
No, I’m not talking about your overprotective big brother oder your oh-so-annoying little brother, both who Du really truly love. No, I’m talking about the guy Du are, whether Du like it oder not, thinking about twenty-four hours a Tag baum hundred and sixty-five days a year.
The “smirking-his-annoying-smile-at-you-in-class-refusses-to-live-you-alone-does-everything-to-bug-you”-kind of guy. The guy who makes your blood boil and Du cheeks burn, who Du really desire to hit with something hard. The guy you’ve been complaining on with your Friends a billion times and who fill every page of your diary with his stupid acting.
The cocky, good-looking, sooo sexy guy with his enchanting eyes and messy hair who everybody loves, everybody but you. Who picks on Du for all those horrible things that makes Du feel bad which, weird enough, makes Du feel better. He who seem to know exactly what Du think and can make Du do an-y-thing just through saying Du can’t, are to muck goody-goody oder are too scared to do it. The guy Du called every ugly name that’s ever been hear. And a few more.
New fact: This guy is very important person. I’m talking “turning-you-world-upside-down –your-life-will-never-be-the-same-again” –important. Believe me I know. I didn’t know what those guy meant to me until I almost Lost him. oder actually Lost him. Well, really he Lost me. Not that I’d known it. I had a hole in my herz for many years without knowing about it. When we met again it started to heal and I realized that there wasn’t a person I hated Mehr in my life than him, oder a person I risk Mehr to keep alive.
While talking about alive. What do Du guys thin happed after death. And don’t say “I don’t know” Du all have a theory Du all wonder about a lot. Way too much actually.
Hot tip. Live while Du can and don’t worry too much about death. Because sooner oder later your dead and then you’ll have plenty of time to figure out what’s going on. I should know I’ve died seven times.
I died the twenty-first of October 1891 on my nineteenth birthday. Every time I’ve died I’ve died on my birthday. On my nineteenth birthday. Du think that when seven different girls dies on there nineteenth birthday, who just happened to be on the same Tag Von the way, with around twenty years between each would wake some attention. But noo, everyone’s to crushed about the tragedy of a young girl with her whole life up a head who died on her birthday. Sigh, Idiots.
