You are all my beautiful things

All those paintings in my room that watch me curiously while I read and write. All those dolls that when I leave the room I hear from behind the door talking to themselves in a low voice so that I don't discover their secret. All those readers who were always by my side and who whenever I decided to stop writing, they shouted in my face: Don't stop. Even after you die, we will pass you a pen and paper so you can continue writing while you are in your grave.