I gave up to write many years ago , after a long summer in which I was writing tens of pages a day , while I was listening to some good old stuff as The Doors or Janis or Hendrix. I am still remembering many of those nights , while I was smoking and writing , trying to improve my writing skills and having in mind the image of a nice lady.. There were many interesting pages , being a lot influenced by Stendhal ( it was a summer in which I did nothing but reading Stendhal and writing.. ) , I still remember some stuff from the precise, shocking  and sharp style used.The next year I switched to poetry because it was much more challenging and also as that time I was a dedicated fan to any challenge. And at a moment I also gave up on poetry because there was nothing left to be said or written , being everything finished in a long moment of silence. I closed myself in an untouchable box of silence and I refused to do something related to it , denying any attempt from my friends at that time to start writing again. It was pointless cause they never and she never understood the silence from me and its significance. And others did not understood it also , later on. I remember someone , many years later, speaking about some special kids and , even if this concept is still unclear for me even now, somehow I am able to understand the idea beyond the concept. She never knew or accepted the idea behind my silence, the idea that my general disappointment on life was so huge that I ended up in an mental total blockage , with no clear or further explications.. quite bad cause sometimes I was missing the good old nights of hard writing. And heavy smoking. When I felt myself so inspired and dedicated to the handwriting. It was quite hard to accept , I am not sure on this , but there remained a question I think , regarding this aspect. Too bad that sometimes I can not express in words what my feelings or ideas are and instead of words I am trying to understand the basics of photography, I am already used to imagine or to see what is in my head.. but I am feeling that my deep inner silence is starting to  break and those so many silenced ideas are now starting to boil and bubble in order to go out. Damn , is so hard to take a pencil and start to put some words on an empty page.. but it is an challenge, an interesting one.. should it be Romanian ?  English? I am not very decided yet but same time I want to try to improve my English skills which are suffering at the moment.

   I do not know what will come next in this so complicated and sad situation in which I am at the moment but I am having this impulse to start writing , to start reading again in a heavy way.. is just a new born life inside me. I was saying earlier something about "Maybe it is just a dream invented by an tired mind , maybe it is just a phantasy , maybe it is just a new beginning. In which I trust!"  and I am not very surprised about some bad interpretations I already heard somewhere.. but somehow I was expecting them. Too bad , you're once again wrong. There was long time ago an wise man saying " I have a dream" and other guys managed to kill him because of his dream. Would you like to kill me for my dream? Again? I have a dream and I will try to make it alive. How about you? You totally missed my silence and my inner space.You will miss this moment and the idea behind it too?