A shy person who faces reality through his characters and uses his mouth to speak what he can never say to others face to face, eye to eye ... Out of cowardice or pure fear of not being understood by those who listen to me. We are authors like this, historians of hidden feelings, planted inside the hearts of others or sometimes in the most intimate of our being. Misunderstood.

 Few times respected as the people we really are. We only achieve recognition when we luckily write the right story or are inspired to create the masterpiece that makes the hearts of the most sensitive readers cry. I am like the silence of the nights, the serene blowing of the breezes and the persistent tinkling of the drops of water falling on the roofs in the winter afternoons. Nobody knows me, knows nothing about my great or little unhappiness.

 Of my joys or sorrows, victories or failures, because they only know my words made in small letters and with dark ink on any paper. I