From the journal of Martin Alarcon
The White Rose
It's been almost a decade since I had last written in this journal of mine. The dusted smell of the book as I currently scribble my pen in one of its pages makes me shift back to those days where I am still thinking how can I reunite with that beautiful girl.
Ever since we separated after that farewell, I can't get her off from my head. I miss no day not remembering our adventures or two. I am happy when she is, too. I felt my effectivity as a man when she is safe on my look. Though, sadly, I stopped from thinking her when my father has decided to partially brainwash my memory to protect me as the rightful heir of our family company.
Mula sa journal ay napadako ang paningin ko sa bintana ng kwarto ko nang hindi ko namamalayan. At minsan
