Sometimes I think that there is something in me...like a secret, which even I can't explain... and nobody is granted to know what's important I keep in my heart... may be it is the pain, that hurts me, and I can't throw it away... I can only forget... but each time when I look insight myself...my heart is empty... and I guess there is nothing to be threw away from it... but finally...what is wrong... I want to cry...everything is swale...but I... I know it is not so.... sometimes I want to die... Socrat said "If the death was not hurtful... then God's won't be deathless"... every day is just a strange meeting of different people and another reason to think..why am I still alive...