Today I woke up with dreams collected under the eyes, still savoring the last strokes of the story that wanted to project my imagination, like a movie, sleep. Waiting the coffee is still the same, and I returned to the living world, I am back to the computer at this stage of my life has become my faithful lover and inseparable. Every day I spend hours stroking with fingertips, gently crossing their keys to create sentences full of philosophy, analysis, Literature. The work I absorb all the free time, but I try to enjoy hours of lucidity, as the unsuccessful. In all, I look between the margins of what I write, and between lines, with each reflection, I think I glimpse at each step a ray of truth about myself. I do not write for the satisfaction of faculty teachers, writing in Ultimately, to me, from me to me. Then comes, each phrase that my nimble fingers are forming on the screen, the moment of confrontation ... and it is not a written work that appears before my eyes: the computer screen becomes filled with letters mirror.
0 comments:
Post a Comment