Did you know your womb was also a grave? - Victoria Diaz.

It’s christmas time and sadness, my old and sweet friend came to visit me once again. The end of the year and it’s quickly approaching and I want to know what I did this year. But, besides trying, I don't know what else to say. 

I just been writing and writing like nothing in the world matters but the words on a paper. To make a movie, to write an article, to write a book. The need for something that comes out of me to exist, to live outside my head. The proof that I haven’t gone insane, that I can’t go insane. Can I? Can I? Can I?

Is this what Cain felt before he went mad? Before he destroyed his mother’s creation? Before he had to watch his own masterpiece in blood and fear and sadness. No scream left, no body to bury. No brother to hug or yell at. All the love left behind. Maybe it’s God's punishment finally setting into my stomach making me regret the existence of it. 

Was I good? I tried to be good. Was I good? Am I good? Can I be good? Was I good?