I have nothing to write about, but I want to do it. Here I am moving my hand over the paper, waiting for it to ask me something.
Sometimes it happens like this, I sit here and start talking to this notebook; which I could also call my psychoanalyst.
I keep silent, sometimes long and uncomfortable silences, until it asks me something; And I start talking and talking.
He is very good at listening, he never interrupts me, always takes note of everything. This way he manages to guide me through the space of my mind.
Before, I thought there was nothing there that I didn't already understand, but he taught me that there is; the space of my mind is full of constellations.
Things I don't understand yet, things forgotten, and things that have always been there, before I arrived.
Sometimes, while exploring the space, I hear a voice, very timid, but one that I have come to know.
I tell her my stories and she tells me hers, I ask her questions, and she gives me advice, although I don't always understand.
Since we started talking, everything is better; that's why now, not a day goes by without me sitting here, talking to her.
To explore and extract, the sometimes strange, sometimes funny, and sometimes profound contents of my mind.
Here, on this blog are some of the extractions that have remained in my notebooks, especially those that seem to be more than just for me. They are for everyone, that's why they are here.

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