Someone who relies on you and say: The life you smile when you smile but if you drink it, you have to put chocolate chips worth a story, the problem is that my pen seems to have no ink. I live in an era of scarce, unfortunately.
Then, in the midst of a horrible class, I can only reply with a promise:
A written words, not with the wind, perpetuate forever ... unless they are deleted. Not enough to say, together we recover the desire to write letters to perpetuate a story, not to wish that this becomes true, you have to write with facts not to desire, as with journalists. The promise is to live to write.
Hopefully this will also help, as much as me ...
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