THE PROOF

I remembered the book I had been intending to write since I was a young man.

 I wanted to become a writer, to write a books, that was the dream of my youth, and we often talked about it together, my sister and I. She believed in me, I also believe in myself, but less and less until finally I completely forgot this dream of writing books. I'm only fifty years old. If I stop smoking and drinking, or rather drinking and smoking, I can still write a book. Not books, but a single book, perhaps. I am convinced that every human being is born to write a book, and for no other reason. A work of genius or mediocrity, it doesn't matter, but he who writes nothing is lost, he has merely passed through life without leaving a trace. 

If I stay here, I will never write a book.