salut. je m’ appelle julienne. je suis de amerique. je suis philippine. j'espère que vous serez avec moi pendant une longue période. joli bébé traverser vos jambes et espère que de mourir parce que cette vie n'est pas une valeur de tes larmes.
“Alex, Alex, Alex,” his name travels through the halls bouncing off the walls so fast there couldn’t possibly be a way to not ignore it. Even if he shut his ears and made a shortcut to his sixth period class through the grassy courtyard, he couldn’t ignore it. The rumors and the looks his peers give. He marches to class with a sharp head held high and back straight. Alex opens the door and the first person he sees is not something he expected but should have kept in close mind. The varicolored of his hair: the blonde, the chestnut, and tawny streaks all piled messily but all so neatly on his head. He has a new cuts and bruises on his face, a fading birthmark on his right cheek and a scar right below his right eye. This world may be calling him names and cursing Alex behind his back, but all Alex sees is him and that hurts more than he could ever ask for. Is this love Alex questions himself or pity for causing his equal so much harm? Alex is tired and already battered from a day worth of abuse, but what makes him want to cry out finally is a single gesture of kindness the wounded boy presents to him. A chair to sit next to him by and Alex understands that he is not alone.
“Alex, Alex, Alex,” his name travels through the halls bouncing off the walls so fast there couldn’t possibly be a way to not ignore it. Even if he shut his ears and made a shortcut to his sixth period class through the grassy courtyard, he couldn’t ignore it. The rumors and the looks his peers give. He marches to class with a sharp head held high and back straight. Alex opens the door and the first person he sees is not something he expected but should have kept in close mind. The varicolored of his hair: the blonde, the chestnut, and tawny streaks all piled messily but all so neatly on his head. He has a new cuts and bruises on his face, a fading birthmark on his right cheek and a scar right below his right eye. This world may be calling him names and cursing Alex behind his back, but all Alex sees is him and that hurts more than he could ever ask for. Is this love Alex questions himself or pity for causing his equal so much harm? Alex is tired and already battered from a day worth of abuse, but what makes him want to cry out finally is a single gesture of kindness the wounded boy presents to him. A chair to sit next to him by and Alex understands that he is not alone.