On writing a lot of stories and never ending one of them.

I have a terrible habit.

I start a fiction, and I rarely end it.

I start to write a story, and I amaze myself of how much I love to do it, how much I'd like to include in... and my brain works amazingly fast, on coke and cigarretes, during three or four months. My mind becomes like a cascade, flooding ideas, almost vomiting them in my keyboard, in my mouth.

But then, I just leave it. I do not know why that happens yet.

Sometimes, I believe I fear to end something I enjoy too much.

Other times, It is because people who read it tell me that I should publish it, but I know I won't... because I'm afraid of literary contests.

I even thought, that the culprit was depression. I use fiction as my own resource to not fall in the darkness of reality. In the darkness of the "every-day". The darker reality becomes, the brighter my creativity could turn.

And when I'm walking, slowly, to the end of a story... I just can't finish it. I feel that I loved so much the story that saved me from myself, that it would be rude to put an ending point in it.