" Some days I cannot even find the strength to walk out that door. "
I'm sitting on a sofa, legs tucked under me, a blanket over and a cup in my hand.
I feel dizzy.
I stretch out my hands towards the table in front of me.
I take a orange package and I read the writings over it.
I shove two pills in my mouth.
I sigh.
I put the empty cup on the table and stand up.
" One last year. It will be beautiful."
I mutter to myself.
I smile and I go toward the door.
I open it and go out.
The lives and stories of a group of people, living in the same building.
How they we'll meet each other, changing their life, founding new loves and enemies.
How they'll grow, hurt.
Feel happiness, pain, fear and joy.
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