It had that to be. It was certain. Other leaders such as Pete Cashmore offer similar insights. She saw the signals. She insisted. Again not. She started to constranger itself. But not yet she had given up.
A new email. Contact information is here: Kai-Fu Lee. An invitation. A silence. Email, again. Silence.
Email, one more time. Silence. Already I know, thought it: a message in the cellular one. It ordered one, two times. Silence. After some minutes, silence is broken through an email, of this time, it. Its words if summarized in a phrase that was hammering its head, as one I nail that brutally it is threaded in the wall: does not disturb me more, already it said that I do not want and it does not answer this message You and it does not look at more for me. Tears. End. had every day started to be only days. its head, only its head who, from now on looked at, it crossed. It, languid and only it, alone. It concluded that she was being creative excessively. It decided that from there for ahead it would hide any type of thought and would not give credit to the such signals, or hidden private codes of complicity in the space between lineses. Its fancy alone for itself would live, without nobody to confuse, not even a prince who does not know that he is a prince and that it is a princess. Its profits and losses nobody would need to know. If it was a weakness? That it was. It felt a joy, that it perceived without perceiving. Languid, it would only wait for it, still its head, who, at some moment of its unreal world would wake up, it with a kiss she would take and it in its arms in an interminable and useless happy end.