- There’s always music playing in my room, and it tends to be too loud.
- Books pile up around me -some of them patiently waiting to be read.
- Sometimes I get angry at a book or at a film, and talk to myself when I’m alone.
- I like my friends (normally this, in the world we live in, is a remarkable thing). I believe you must surround yourself with people you actually enjoy and don’t feel like you need to impress.
- The view from my window (balcony, actually) is always the same, but I tend to lose myself in it every once in a while. I’ve been awake for whole nights, feeling the coldish air coming through my open window. I’ve stared at the dark sky, looking for stars but failing miserably because of the excess of city lights. I’ve followed the path of the moon at night, going from one clear point to the other, hiding from me behind the building in front of mine.
- Every once in a while, I catch myself creating weird scenarios in my head -impossible, distant and beyond amazing.
- I’ve been to the streets of NYC thanks to my imagination (and films, and books, and pictures) but never in real life.
- I like writing. I do, but some times I think I’m not good at it. Maybe what I’ve dreamed of my whole life is just a distant light, like Jay Gatsby’s green light. Something that keeps me going but, at the same time, seems to be unreachable no matter what I do.