You made me.

B.

Today I went to the library near the classical high school in my city, and I sat behind one of the large tables inside. By now I know this library well, but every time I go back I always find something better than the previous time.

A book.

A fantastic old book that had always caught my attention but that I had never had time to open, frightened by the quantity of its pages.

Today I opened it, and all the inspiration I felt, everything I was looking forward to doing, disappeared from my head. I felt so small, so low, so incapable, only a couple of sentences made me realize that I was nothing.

I know I'm still mediocre in the field of writing, but I still had a little hope; maybe I could have become at least decent. But knowing that there are - or there were - people so capable, so passionate in their writing, brings me down.

I don't know what I should think anymore.