It was Summer but all he could see were snowflakes everywhere.
Looking back, the time spent away was probably the best he had ever lived.
Three months have passed since he had written anything. Yet, he still had nothing to tell.
Now that he was almost leaving, he began to ask himself if going was the right choice.
He was not sure anymore.
Months have passed. I have done nothing useful. I am a disgraceful piece of nothingness.
All the friends he thought to have were long gone. He was alone now.
And soon, he would be alone far away.
Pedro Simão Mendes