verano, mi amor, donde esta?
I hate feeling this way.
I don't know what to do.
It's not enough to be a serious problem.
But it's still there.
I can't ignore it.
But acknowledging it means I've become exactly what I don't want to be.
I want to have control.
But I don't want to be controlled by artificial means.
I don't know where to draw the line.
It's not black or white: that would be too simple.
Sometimes I wonder what goes through my Aunt's head.
As much we criticize her, I don't think she deserves it.
She's just not strong enough to change.
How can anyone blame her for something she obviously can't control.
But I honestly wonder what she thinks about all day.
I wonder if she thinks about her situation.
This entry is just for me.
To get things out.
It's for me to deal with.
And writing helps.