I remember a little child, not taller than a meter and a half, who dreamed of lives, created images in front of his eyes, dreamed at every moment and was full of desires. She wanted a family because she never had one, she wanted a home because she was constantly moving, she wanted friends who wouldn't pass, she wanted some great love for which she would suffer for a long time because she thought that when you have right love then you have to suffer, if there is no suffering then he is not right, he dreamed of traveling, of being free to do whatever he wanted, sometimes he even wanted to be left alone and abandoned so that he could print pages, create his own story.
It had only one problem, with the fulfillment of every wish, she got into trouble, every wish bring something bad, and chaos led to nervous breakdowns. That child first felt that people were lying, that promises were empty, and that those closest to him were hurting the most. She sensed what death meant. What she brings and what she takes away. The feeling that of all emotions, the lack is the strongest, that it cannot be cured, but over time it began to love him in order to survive. She realized what it was like to be alone, left to herself with no hand to guide her, no family and no friends, no support she always needed. She learned that this chasing chaos could break a man, so she got lost in her own mind. Feeling the madness on her skin she realized how how horrible it can be when she breaks down mentally.. After the rain comes the sun, but what if it goes on like this indefinitely?
It has found its sun, its security, its love. And then you leave him lost in suffering. Irreversible. It got a home, something it should call its home, but there are no smiling faces, there are some new people, some strangers. She felt what freedom meant, how beautiful it was, but also frightening. Now he has paper and pencil, he has more words than he needs to write a book, but he can't write now when everything becames not importamt.