Reality.

This entry is so harmful that I decided to write it in english, the language I was using while thinking, in order to be thorough.
-sigh-
I'm not a writer.
My natural skills of connecting ideas are not enough to make me a good writer. I have no perseverance. My entries, descriptions and texts don't shine with the magic of the words. Ideas are not as witty, as clever or so well expressed as I thought they were. As I wanted them to be.
I'm not a good writer. I have no enough vocabulary or inspiration...
I have the only hability of connecting ideas.
And that has been a shock to me, because that's not a crisis.
 That means my dream is broken itself, forever.