With my face flattened on the car window, I look out as if I were in the afterlife.
I raise my hand and mention a last goodbye again, before returning to the invisibility.
My head, my body, certainly wants to rebel against everything. But the apathy was making its way into me, I felt suspended over a wire.
How many times still would I have to move?
How many more times did I still have to say goodbye?
At school, always the new one with the strange accent and each time starting over again; new friendships, knowledge, new me. It was all so frustrating.
My brother brought me back to reality by raising the volume of the radio .. Pointing out that listening was a single of Coldplay, always his favorite band; Of course mine too.

""Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh take me back to the start"""

Started, turning the steering wheel, a curve to the left, while my mother, resting on the back of the seat, almost slept. You could read fatigue in her face and I do not think she had slept on the trip.
He was always so thoughtful, just ... I remember that before leaving he insisted, in vain, to not let Mychol, my brother, drive, not because he did not trust, but rather, to make him rest.

He always felt a sense of security towards his son. He trusted blindly of him and it is right that it is so, moreover, he was the man of the house.
Since dad had gone away with his bitch, he took care of us, my whims and hysterics of mother.
Fortunately, he was there.

I thought it was the only person, besides my mother, who was serious about me. After all, I never had the opportunity to deepen a knowledge in the right way .. At 16, for the first time, I kissed a boy ... And three months later I had to say goodbye.
My mother had found a restaurant in California, had invested all that remained for that apartment .. She was convinced that this time was the right opportunity. She was convinced that we would settle for real.
She was sure of it, not me.
I had lost hope now and hell, I think it is also quite understandable!
I hated that situation too much. Every year always the same story. "Honey, we have to move, I found a better place .. I'm sure this is the right time"
Fuck.
'It will never be the right time until Dad comes back or at least, until Mum starts dating some rich city.' ...I thought..
But it was not from her and I was proud of it.
As for my father, I did not even want him to come back.
He could have made us comfortable for an economic situation, of course, but what I felt towards him was and will be, in spite of everything, only and only hatred and disgust for what he did.
He had ruined my life.
 

My brother has always been my hero.
When we moved to California she was nineteen, with dark brown hair and green eyes, like me.
... if it was not for him, I seriously believe that my life had not had a fucking sense.
He was my father, my best friend, my brother. He was the person who made my existence "bearable".
Together with mum, we thought it was really a great guy, the man of dreams of anyone but I do not know why, he had not yet introduced his girlfriend.
In case he had at least one.
......