it still makes me weird. This feeling of being able to understand the people I love, but who on their side, still remain with the image of who I could be in the past. Someone angry, someone lonely, someone you can't talk to. Times have changed, my trust in the image of others has destroyed me. Sincerity and honesty were things that I attributed too easily, that it was impossible for me to stand up on my own, so shameful of myself wanting to forgive myself for having acted in this blindness is still a struggle which leaves me in a new image of myself. Confidence is, and has always been there, but an evil gnawed and still gnaws, that of no longer being part of a whole. I was alone, while I was surrounded. And it was getting closer to my mother, which was difficult, finding words to forgive me for having been so terrible, so mean, so insensitive. To accept my share of sensitivity was to control my anger, it was above all to enter a new phase, that of becoming misunderstood. I was understood only in anger, being at peace was then new for everyone, and making myself understood as well as understanding was a new language. My anger was my shield, the essence of my pride and my ego, I walked in the light of others making me even the shade, in the end, I refused to believe, that I, too, could shine. And it is in the eyes of my mother that I experience a change, it is in the eyes of my father that I experience incomprehension. My fight changes, that of bringing this language to those who do not have it, do not have it, or have never heard it. Even if it is sometimes not very clear, it is having understood my anger, which makes me hear that of others. To speak this language which has only violence, swear words, tears and bad actions, as a vocabulary, is to decipher what it is as a basis for action or emotions. And it is in the eyes of my mother now, that I seek to remain bright and not disturbing, it is also in those of my father, that I seek to become that of a happy lad. I saw a past that was taken away from me, by the same one that badly bore her name. An emotion which diverted me from fifteen years of life to laugh, with those who saw me being born, and given as reason, to believe that with them always I would make her flee sooner than to take it as reason, whereas 'it seduced me more than those who saw me being born, for fear of misunderstanding this emotion, love.