I found out something about words. There are plenty of words I can put on paper, words I can see with my eyes and scribble with my hand, that I never had the guts to say with my mouth.
Sometimes, I used to think I was brave; but I don’t believe that anymore.
And then it’s always that one word that makes you so different and puts you outside the overlap of everyone else; and that word is so fucking big and loud, it’s the only thing anyone ever hears when your name is spoken.
And whenever that happens to us, all the other words that make us the same disappear in its shadow.
Winger, de Andrew Smith
Reseña en proceso. Os dejo este fragmento para amenizar un poco la espera (y para que el Cajoncito esté un poco menos abandonado), y porque me parece una reflexión muy, muy interesante. ♥