Every morning, I take my fountain pen and journal along with me to the beach, sitting in my favorite spot, where the beautiful breeze hit my head, refreshing my thoughts, the view of the endless sea, ignites my imagination, and the sound of the waves crashing on the beach, calming the rush in my heart.
Opening the journal, skimming through the past, slowly I enter a state of trance where I relive the past that has been recorded in the journal, it ends as it reaches the empty. A blank page where I choose the setting, the characters, the plot, the resolution, and finally the conflict. Continuing the story that is far from ending, as each day there is a plot twist that prevents me from ending it. As though I am writing a story that does not belong to me, no matter how many times I try to end it, a shadowy character enters the story, making tiny changes to leave the story unresolved.
I have tried capturing this ghostly figure many times, unfortunately, as soon as I get closer to him, my part in the story begins, and it knows that it is important to me, and so I am writing a story, in a story that has already been written.
“There Is Still Hope”