A security guard gives the last round before closing the museum. In the last corridor, he see an old man looking to a painting.

Guard: Good night sir, I'm afraid that the museum is going to close. We are telling the visitors to go to the exit.

Old Man: Good night, young fella. Do this painting doesn't look a little creepy to you?

Guard: Well... yeah!!! but you know? at night, all the things in the museum look a little bit spooky. Some times I fell a little afraid.

Old man: Don´t tell me that you, a strong and young man is afraid of the dark!!!

Guard: of course not!!!

Old man: Do you believe in ghost, son?

Guard: no, not really...

Old man: I do...

Saying that, the old man started walking slowly in the corridor, dissapearing in the shadow made when the moon light hit an old statue...
... And I don't feel fine. Now I'm awake feeling something crushing my chest, don't letting me to breath easily. I just turn thirty and I feel sad, I feel scare, I feel alone... I feel empty. I just turn thirty and I'm alone, I don't have any proyects, I don't have a job. Even when I apply to a lot of places, I don't got any kind of answer.

I just turn thirty and I started to feel that the persons I care about, doesn't care about me.

I turned thirty and I started to realize that I don't have any proyects that don't receive the title of dumb, stupid or worst... They receive a laughter.

Now I cannot sleep because I decided to don't be one of the people that do the same thing over an over again. I choose to be me.

Now I cry because I want this demons to stop hunting me. Because they are now telling me that they are some easy ways to stop being, like she said, a "stupid thinking man".

I know that I'm not the only one with the privilege of sadness, but minimizing my problems comparing them with the others people's luck, doesn't make them lighter.

But now I write this feelings to take them out of "my box" and put them in this virtual page. I will live them here, even when nobody read them, even when nobody care.

Because that's what writers do, doesn't they?

They write...

We just write...