There was a time that I clung so desperately to hope. At the time, I was never that prone to be skeptical. But if you lived the way that I had, then we'll be able to see each other eye to eye. To others, hope is a blessing, a way to see the future in rose tinted lens. To me, its a toxin. A way to break my already shattered heart.How did I, a 13-year-old boy, became like this you might ask? Quite nosy huh? Well, I will oblige to your wish.10 years ago, I was the first born son of a prominent family, destined to live a life with a golden spoon, given the best education, wore the best tailor made clothes, and become a well-mannered and dignified member of society.Well, give emphasis on the WAS. Because that was it: I was, the first born son. My only recollection from my parents were only two instances. The first, was their promise to come back for me when I was 3 years old.I could still remember them, black trench coats, umbrellas, blond hair tucked away in large hats and bowler caps
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