It’s not for missing of content, ideas or inspiration.
If you knew or could read all my texts, reviews, thoughts, and poetry written and archived, maybe you understand my constant frustration.
All this started when I was 8 years old, was a “homework”, my therapist asked me to do everyday.
At 12 ys writing was my attempt to exorcize my “demons”.
At 18 ys was the need to keep my mental health, I felt completely lost and alone.
At 15 ys, I move in “The Wonderful City” – the fairytale for all my friends and as absurd as it looks, it was never mine.
Finish my book. I’ve several pieces around in my dusty journals over my 27 years. I keep telling constantly: “this book will be my greatest inheritance”, but how will you know if I’m really ashamed to publish, even online?
The truth is, that over the years writing has become my true lonely love. Imagine it all began as a brief sigh therapeutic and for now I want to undress without fear so that everyone (or not) read is very scary …