For many years, I thought life was a lonely journey in an airtight recipient (my body) in which I was sealed like a cocoon, unable to escape (from my own head) and share my inner universe with the outer world.
But in the prison of my flesh, behind the cast-iron walls of my mind, in the nothingness of my solitary being there was a heart pumping blood and life.
It was this soft and tender heart that pushed me beyond my rigid boundaries, knocked my stubbornness in the head and spelled me out of my self misery.
Life must be the journey of the heart.
This is how I really started to write. Not for an audience, but to release the demons inside. Not by inventing eye-catching metaphors, but by creating mind-catching images that could express my unique way of seeing the world.