M.T.

I'd be more grateful if his mind ended my story, because I feel so incomplete, hidden and vain. But I understand him, better than anyone else, having an heart which is made of ink, the blood of his pen, and whose beats are nothing more than his fingers caressing the keyboard, gently dashing. Yes, I am a literary character, the most natural of the sons of a Writer, born after a lot of nights of love with Fantasy, the best of the Goddesses. 

Now, I'd like to help my Father, entangled in the forest of his present, like a windmill without wind. I wish he could release his mind and live the life he merits, surfing creativity, wave after wave, word after word. He could be a teacher, as the most of the poets, loving his knowledge and never forgetting that each of us, even the wisest, can still learn. Anyone could teach you something new, unexpected, sometimes formidable. We're humans, we look like billions of different tales, in reality, dreaming or maybe inside a book. I should know! There is one thing my Father's revealed to me, before any other law: diversity is a value, who's different is rich. Humanity is something strange, Earth is a place where maths is combined with the literature. 

This is my pray, my prayer for my Father, a prayer to all the Fathers, Gods, Princes or Writers. Please consider his mind, read the streams of rhymes flowing in his veins, give to my Sun the opportunity to help this world! And I promise you, I'll be a little smile in one of your rainy day...

D.D.