<center><h2>The door in the sunset</h2></center>

<center>https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmcNm5BRVVawc3xb7RU79UFqk6LYKeexSgFwLZj4CENCdE/IMG_20210411_095800_731.jpg</center>
 <center>Source: @xpilar</center>




<center>https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmbhr3ivU6jJaQ4FE1PoGVqpt4MVNP4TGvKYHakZpwFkNL/C3TZR1g81UNaPs7vzNXHueW5ZM76DSHWEY7onmfLxcK2iQWoV2yNU4XDyuMyh3Fw4RRfb5FhGfRRPwZ6qza5n6rLGbypXzCMJPV3ErripGTK4fAj5vpVdT4.png</center>


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<p>It was a hidden place that I found while hiking. Do you know what was the first thing I did when I saw it? I took a picture to store that warm and sublime sunset that greeted us. 
</p>
<p>The sun seemed to melt and shed an orange curtain that splashed the sea. I could not help noticing that despite that, the light could not penetrate the darkness of those heavy waters, which did not let us glimpse anything beyond the black that swayed gently in the swaying of the waves. </p>
<p>I retreated back to the rented cabin before nightfall, fearing I would get lost. The setting where it was located was magical, just as promised by the owner, who had left it for me days before. I had not paid special attention to this, because what I had gone to do, strange as it seemed, was to lock myself in.
</p>
<p>I was looking for a place of quiet, where nothing would distract me from what I had gone to do: write. At first I was able to fill a few pages, but then I realized that nothing else was coming out of my mind, that the words that sprouted between my fingers were scarce and had no meaning, they meant nothing, they did not fill me in any way. I was lost, the problem was not the place where I was writing. The problem was me and only me.
</p>
<p>I was lost and I didn't know how to find myself again. I had been an illusion to believe that I could write books non-stop if I was far away from everyone, in a nice and quiet place. To tell the truth, it was that tranquility, that silence that had begun to bother me. I didn't know how to be with myself, and to add to this cruel truth, I had nothing to tell, no good story to weave, what was inside me was silent and I didn't know if I would ever find that voice again.
</p>
<p>These concerns urged me to put all the unfinished pages aside, and drove me to leave the cabin and walk around its surroundings every day. There was still time left and I had not failed if I could write something culminating again, and if not, at least I did not want to fail in having reconciled with myself.
</p>

<p>It was on one of those long silent walks that I came upon the most beautiful hidden place I had ever seen in my life, but at the same time the saddest, as if there was an invisible weight on it, invisible to the eyes, but not to the other senses. There were mountains all around, like impassable walls of nature and little hiding places of branches and trees. 
</p>
<p>I had arrived just at the right time to see the sunset, so I took a picture and then sat on the seashore, contemplating the spectacle in silence, while the warm water wet my feet. I promised to come back, that place seemed to fit well with me. I liked it for its beauty, but I was attracted by its mystery, by this sadness in the atmosphere, pronounced without words, that I felt in my bones.
</p>
<p>When I returned to the cabin, I placed the photograph I had taken on the mantelpiece and settled down to dinner and then to sleep. The next few days were no different, except for that time when I again came to shelter in the bosom of the warm waves, tucked in the mountains and the sea. This time the sunset did not end, but would start soon and I could see it from the beginning.
</p>
<p>Not a second later, not a second earlier. When the sunset began, I observed some blurry shapes on the horizon, which began to approach and materialize with each centimeter that shortened between me and the distance. An exhalation escaped me, and although I could not distinguish what it was, I wondered if it was real or if I was seeing an illusion. Either way, they came closer and I could see what it was.
</p>
<p>There were four people, or at least, four forms that looked like people, because they had no body. They seemed to be made of light, although as with the water, that light did not dissipate the shadows in their eyes, their faces were immensely sad. They stopped in front of me and watched me for a long time, which seemed eternal. 
</p>
<p>-Do you want to know our story? We need someone to give us a voice," said one of the figures, the long-haired, shuffling woman. 
</p>
<p>With that question everything began, and since then I go every day to that place where the sunset opens its doors and lets them pass into this world, to tell me stories that I listen to attentively and that, with my words, I turn into reality, I give them a voice.
</p>
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<center>https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmbhr3ivU6jJaQ4FE1PoGVqpt4MVNP4TGvKYHakZpwFkNL/C3TZR1g81UNaPs7vzNXHueW5ZM76DSHWEY7onmfLxcK2iQWoV2yNU4XDyuMyh3Fw4RRfb5FhGfRRPwZ6qza5n6rLGbypXzCMJPV3ErripGTK4fAj5vpVdT4.png</center>

<center><h6>This is my first entry in this contest, an initiative proposed by @xpilar, I hope you like it. If you want to know about this contest, here is the link that will direct you to the post where you can find the contest rules: <a href="https://steemit.com/hive-185836/@xpilar/digital-image-for-the-day-is-made-according-to-my-own-imagination-and-thoughts-your-writing-story-competition-108">Story inspired by the digital image </a>.</h6></center>

<center><h5>Thanks for reading me!</h5></center>