There comes a point in every old penguin's life when you have to ask yourself:
How the hell did we end up here?
and most important...
What happened to us?
I breath I exist I think I stop I exhale I stop existing.
Life goes. It never comes.
Mienteme y di que no estoy loco.
...Y como un lobo voy detras de ti
Yes, this is a real post, I'm not kidding.
[I'm in that point of life where I have to, again, grab a hammer and collapse it against anything that seems to be part of me]