We are teenager and we fall in love always with the wrong people.

The reason is clear.

We are masochists, and basically brought to absolute stupidity, because, God, can't be considered intelligent suffer for someone, no matter how special he can be.

Another reason is that we seek our source of pain.

In practice we are self-defeating alternative that does not have the courage to use a fucking razor blade, and therefore destroy themselves mentally.

We are so melodramatic and sentimental, convinced that what we feel can change the course of things, and defeat the forces bigger than us, I have learned from experience that it is not like this.

I don't think there is a destiny and no choices, I am convinced that we decide our future, but at the same time I think there is something or someone that is fun to create the worst situations, and make us suffer, perhaps in revenge, perhaps hate , or more likely to teach us in this life, make us strong enough to fight beside him, and when we are ready we then die.

I think that life is a long and arduous training for the post.

We young people love to read stories, trivial and obvious, with all those cliches that we love so much, when bad becomes good, a sweet guy falls in love with his best friend, the loser with the popular, the famous with the depressed, and everyone is happy.

All of these stories have a hated and absolutely impossible happy ending, which leads the girls dreamers and misunderstood by the world to pretend that for them there will be a happy ending, and it is difficult to admit, I was one of them.

But now I know, that the happy ending, a "lived forever happily " I couldn't have in any case, never, because I was in love with Jerome Clarke, and Jerome Clark was out of any scheme, or rule, and he wasn't the prince of the books, or the classic rebel with a good soul.

I didn't believe in the stories trivial, and we would have been too much.

So no, I didn't believe in us as a couple.

And above all, even if I had believed, for his sake, even I tried to stay with him.

Because if I had been forced to relocate to England with a false identity, dyed hair, leaving it all behind, with no possibility of contacting my parents, accompanied by FBI and with the constant fear of being killed, there was a reason.

I had taken my precautions, I was careful not to tie me too, but it was no use.

There are ways and ways of telling a sad story, but each of these is incredibly difficult.

You have to look for the right words.

Try to focus not only on the tragic events that characterize it but also on those happy, who, however, there must have been.

A sad story have to be credible.

Exciting.

Must know how to make you cry, but certainly also laugh.

It 'hard to tell our sad story without pouring an exaggerated amount of pain in the words we write.

It 'hard to remember the good times, those happy, without making them too damn sad.

Eventually, in general, it takes great strength to write a sad story.

I'm not totally sure resent that strength.

My name is Ryley Jackson, in England I'm officially Ryan Sanders, and it all began on the day when I witnessed a murder