My will to write faded, it went to sleep.

I think I wrote mostly when I was feeling down, sad or slightly depressed.

One day I found someone to love, to laugh with, to care, someone that cares for me and loves me back… and I stopped writing.

Writing was a kind of therapy for me. I do not see it like that anymore.


Dio inicio de forma desastrosa, lluvia suave, vientos fuertes.

Mejoró con ayuda de un café caliente y un croissant.

Fue magnífico cuando el sol se coló por la ventana y la calidez reclamó su lugar.

Sin embargo, el viento frío no se dejó vencer, tomó fuerza con el tiempo y se coronó al caer la tarde.

Locked memories

There is so much you do not remember, so many things you used to know, things that now lie hidden somewhere in your memory. Those thoughts, those events are unreachable to you and I think that is the best. I believe you do not need to remember. Those are not things you want to know, I know you enough. We can avoid that, you do not need to feel neither doubt nor misery and I do not need to see you feeling like that.

Almost forgotten

This space is a small piece of me. It is hidden in plain sight: first I put it in a corner then I turned the lights off. Some days I remember it exists and still nothing happens, words do not come to me…

…Perhaps inspiration has been wiped out from the universe.


Background song: Verano by La Oreja de Van Gogh