I am not a writer. I have never thought of myself to be one. But a whispering wind of desire calls me to let the unheard words outside the shell of my soul. Started with someone believing, giving strenght to the weak I am. She whispered then everything whispered. The need to disclose, a need for spilling. I am a cup overfilled.
Do Not Think. Do you think you can? No one can stop thinking. And this will be my thinking box. An “online” repository of ideas, thoughts and everything else in between my ears. To others its a blog, a diary, to me its an eternal search for the reality that hides beneath the charade of smiles, frowns, and anything else in between. In this piles of thoughts, piece by piece, the puzzle will unfold. Each letter, each word, will be me. An attempt to unmask the ghost within. Incoherence is in me.
~babbling foolish ghost
