37 pages. a list of people all come from my mind and I have to remember them!
They’re starting to live on their own, their past coming to life while I type as I’m possessed by them.
So I’m starting to love them, looking forward to reach the end.
I’m drowning in all the doubts about my incompetence.
I’m positive I’ll finish this story of them, those people life come to life because of me.
I really don’t know what I’ll do after, but I’m enjoying the journey, we’ll see the destination.
I have a world in this ass-head of mine, not sure it could be appreciated, but I’m surprised myself when I look at that.
Thinking about omnipotence, writer syndrome.