Carol explains to Max before, long ago, they had him and all his friends, major construction projects. They wanted to build this and that, and nothing would do them harm ... and then one day, without them realizing it, their teeth fell out.
Maybe it was too late for construction. The weather did not expect, or they believed in its power.
Winter is coming soon and then it will be spring. Concern. Being a child at this very hour and time will pass, it will be over soon, it will be good for others, those 6 years. So we must wait for the bus and go up. We can only return and watch what you leave behind. Do not worry, others say, those that are mounted before, years ago. It does not last long. It does not hurt.
It does not last very long, it's true. This small moment is the ride melancholy beings torn world, the world which they were kings. They have to give up the crown to another, the successor, the one that said goodbye to his joyous smile, they still hate the successor to the first. Grow up and understand that this is not always the fault of others. And that's the most painful, this little tip in the heart, and love which is guilty, realizing suddenly that can hurt and can no longer really care. It's not before, we did not like. But that's not the same.
Wondering why the Mother looks at her with a little look so sad. Because you grow, my child. And you change. Nothing more, yet this change makes me vomit. Grow up you will remember, perhaps, to build what you wanted to build when you were king. You had ideas, imagination, and you did not care the time, do you care what others said, those who you said it was impossible. Above all, I could not rock you. The child becomes an adult loved one that is feared.
Keep the monster within himself and screaming with rage because you're angry, crying bitterly because we are sad, it hurt to laugh because we are happy, the eyes also in vacuum, or closed because they thought, or that we daydream, if ever bite the other upset, break the camel's back because we no longer know the words to say.
Some say it is no longer. It should be reasonable now.
With this child with this monster, to write the novel, then burn the pages, build the castle and destroy it, kicking his feet in the mound of earth and rebuild it.
Destroy, Rebuild. Say that it could be better and pay attention to you, This means that you are depressed. Build, destroy and rebuild. Weaving secrets.
We know that the ride takes longer than what others would have us believe. The stupidity of some is to believe that they are adults, this condition does not exist. The strength of others is to be sponge and flame. To be on the verge of explosion, always. The bus, they took it. Except at the last moment, laughing, flying the driver's seat, they changed direction. The adults try to play, but there is much left to burn. There is a small opening in the heart, and everything ran them through the tiny opening. They expect without dreaming. And if others are waiting too, they dream the same time. They play and burn and burn. Moreover, they prefer to burn rather than wait too long. Some prefer the sadness of infertility. Some prefer the suicide disease. Time itself, can not wait. Time is a creditor. It will hurt, and no need to have 40 or 50 years to know there will always be evil, and we will need many things to fill the gaps, and sometimes we will need more than desire, and then we die, and then it is.
And since now we know, they cry, reopening the wounds with great blows of scissors, knife, scalpel.
Gale. The first word. Cry and you will create a world irrigated with our blood. Pain rather than drying. The world narrowed to our excesses, though small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. It gets the crown.
king of a tiny kingdom trembling, a dusty attic, a lonely island larger, broader, more terrible, more intense than all the continents combined.
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