The maid will be born and will kill the writer occupying its place. If writer wrote wrong she not going to try. We fire the writer and we receive the maiden, I don’t need the weapons to end up being her and not another, that dictate, arrange and send in the actions of a single being. The writer little by little dies it goes away, but I still hear his heart beating. Still dominates my body but his performance will soon end. The writer dies, goes forever, will not be born, I hope not, because he was born of a difficult birth and few things he gave.

The writer is finished, the rain the rhythm that brings the long-awaited moment by my. Rain is my ally and I hope that rain both and for both to be soon here, ending. I’ll leave that writers write writers do not know because they want to write, but it is than if do not, they feel like dying. So, who does not feel it does not include what ever, is not something of which they can be separated. They pick up his pen and begin with a small idea, but the world spins fast and hatch thousands of ideas, everything comes alive in them and write without knowing the reason, but they can’t stop and why drift of that harmless desire, so cheap and unusual with pen and paper is often arranged. Sometimes feel ashamed by what you have written how me could happen to me count these nonsense?,!I write badly, they will tell others!Spelling mistakes I know that I have, that was the fault of the teacher of literature, without a doubt, but life is so and they are there, for good and for evil because they cannot change it and do not come to wish, because writing can be a secret that only your mother know, their texts will offer so read them those who thirst have read if this is happens them, or can also make writing therapy to achieve a piece of the happiness of the one that lasts and lasts.