My pen has been my friend since my very young age, I loved to write almost everywhere; on the house walls, on the books. I was not stopped even when no pen with me, I used my hand to write on the car’s windshield salty with dust or using a small rock or branch to write on the floor.
There was not subjects to talk about, the fact of writing matters the most.
Growing up later, entering the school, every copy books I have was touched with some thoughts in the middle of pages or in the corners, and maybe luckily at the last pages.
In my teenage life, I started writing everything happening to me on my lovely diary. Expressing what I feel and what I’m thinking about has healed my suffering and clarified the thoughts I had, and let me fall in love more and more with this activity that become later my life.
Taking the pen and writing down anything until that idea come out from my subconscious part of mind, and introduce itself between lines. Then, appears clearly that I could see it face to face framed by my pen, nothing can let it go away as it is mine between the hands of my pen.
I write to catch my real self, to see it from another perspective.
I write to let it go….
I write to understand ..
I write to heal my pain..
I write to be awake..
I write to be alive..