Cold and long nights. Writing. Deleting. Trying to find something hidden inside my coffee cup already empty. I pause for a few seconds with my fingers raised in front of the keyboard running behind the idea that ran away. She is quick and I am no longer. I played with words, but now they excluded me because I'm already a grown man.
I think about the women I've lost, and the ones I got too. If before the desire to get rich excited, now just pay the rent relieves me. Jobs are jobs, and not more fun like before. Study and become a doctor, my father said. Money, I laughed, I will not be a slave of money. Now it whips me and laugh.
Twenty-something years. They look like fifty. An old man who can not pass from the first paragraph of the fifth chapter of the book that was a promise of success. Promises. I heard several. Fulfilled? Few.
I babble words that may seem like an affront to God, but then I apologize to the creator. Before a faithful and now a young man full of doubts. It seems I am the most unhappy man in the world, but I am not. I'm just upset when I'm out of ideas. When creativity is blocked, I unwittingly start thinking about life in the worst possible way.
Next to my monitor, I open a wooden box, and there are some memories. Poems written for old passions. Sharon. I do not remember that girl very well. I wrote with so much emotion that it should be important. The year: 2005.I remembered. She said "I love you", and then left me for an older guy that had a car. After six months I discovered she was pregnant. Single mother. I'm not proud of it, but I laugh. People make mistakes all the time and blame life.
Cruel and damn free will, I think. The sun shines behind the window. It's early and late. I organize my things and go to the office, my true source of income. Save document, close and shut down. Another time I finish, I promise to myself. After all, this book is a promisse!