I don't know how many lives we think we have, and we destroy ourselves. But I believe we have only one. Once we look at ourselves in the mirror our beautiful face gives way to a few scattered wrinkles. One moment we look at our body and our once strong features give way to maturity.

Every five years, we get older. So why not make ourselves the most beautiful we can, instead of dragging ourselves through a long hell until we wake up, and it's too late?

Everything passes but death. But you will tell me that a separation is a small death. Yes, it is. Temporal, though. Mutant, not original. Get up and fight. On the first day, you won't be able to do much. The second day, you'll be better. The third day, more. After a while, you won't mourn anymore.

The sun will not hide itself, nor will the sky lose its blue color. You're here, young, handsome, still strong. You can love again, fight again, be loved again.

Why do you give up? Who did you ask to put you in this grave? Who decided for you? What right have you to pine away your youth?

Stand up and shake off the dirt. Look up and be thankful that you live, that you breathe, that you walk.

Do you know how many people would give years of their lives to be in your shoes? Have you spent your holidays away from the hospital? Have you spent Sundays inwards with sick people? Do you know what all those people would give to be in your shoes? Anything.

Wake up. Life is now. It won't last forever.