There was once someone that said type until you can't find the words anymore. So here I sit, it is a night of October. My room is empty, just filled with used air. I breathed all night, sat here. My fingers want me to grab a cigarette and open the window, but I just sit and type. Because once this woman said I shall write and write and don't look at what's left behind, just go on. So here I sit and I write.

   The time travels fast anyhow, so all I got left is my mind and some memories that fly by, as I write. I write and the music comes through too. I think I might get a smoke in a while anyways.. It's the quiet atmosphere and this silent night that makes me blow my mind again, with something so useless, something so worthless, something so wrong.

   I don't smoke I say. I don't smoke I mean. I light a cigarette and am proud, to be, to live, to breath. And all I said before doesn't matter, because she said, don't look back. And I don't.

   As the moment comes over me, and this head fills with smoke I realise I am not typing anymore, and that my window is wide open, open for everyone to enter. Spiderman is watching from the top of the building and I great. The stars are out too, and I realise I am not alone anymore.

   The fresh air is blowing slow, and I can hear it whisper and all I hear is:  Jana you stopped typing. And then the air cuts of, and the smoke I choke, like a coke with coke. So this feeling shuts my door, and I breathe again the used air. I type my words, to this end and I fear. No, no more fear. Close the window and no more fear.

   Just sit down and type, she said. So I sit and type.