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But you can feel it. In each known corner, in each smell that carries memory of before. Freud and his adepts don't have to say it, much less convince us of this. Our roots bury deep and inevitably in our childhood and keep carrying memories and words that affect us and echoes fresh and painfully in our daily reality.

Sometimes defenseless, (almost always), in front of our lacks and defects of our personality, we accept it in an stoic attitude, what we assumed like unavoidable, as our destiny. A lot of us were created, forged and detained tragically in some episode of our childhood and live like a ghost in the corners of the old house, the ancient school and our toys, ours, us, loved, toys.

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